Birthday
by Ronja-R
Summary: Peeta doesn't like celebrating his birthday. Katniss convinces him to do so anyway. To find out the rest, you'll have to read the story!
1. Chapter 1

This is something I wrote well over a year ago and then for some reason forgot about. Maybe I thought I would post it around the time it's set and by that time I didn't remember I had it at all. In any case, I found it again the other day and decided I might as well post it. It's going to be two or three parts depending on how I edit it, and each chapter won't be all that long, but hopefully interesting nonetheless.

I can't seem to make up my mind about Peeta's age since in "the Project" I have him born the year before Katniss (making them both sixteen during the events of THG) and in this story I have them born the same year, making him fifteen when he was reaped. Don't know if that matters, really. I can't recall if Suzanne Collins ever said his exact age. I, again, used the date IMDB has listed as his birthday, though I still have no idea where they got that information.

And with that I'm done babbling, on to the story!

* * *

She is really excited when she first brings it up, which makes one of us. It's September and my birthday is only a month away. Katniss wants to celebrate it. I really don't.

Birthdays are a bit of a fascinating topic. People tend to either love their own date of birth and see it as an opportunity to celebrate and be at the centre of attention and get lots of gifts, or they see it as a grim reminder that they are getting older. Katniss falls more in the first category, not necessarily because she loves getting gifts and attention but because her parents used to make sure it was a special day when she was younger. I fall into the second category, though not because I personally mind aging. Birthdays were never a happy occasion in my home when I grew up and I've carried that with me into adulthood.

I was fifteen when I went into the first arena, my sixteenth birthday happening during the fall after the Games. At that point in time Katniss and I weren't getting along too well and I let the day go by without making a fuss about it. She hadn't asked me when I was born and at that time I assumed she could care less. I turned seventeen while I was in District 13 and spent the day chained to a bed fighting the demons in my head, which is all I remember about that particular day. The year after the war, when she and I had become a real couple, I didn't tell her about my birthday either. Not until we were celebrating her nineteenth birthday and she demanded to know when my day was and how come we had been together for ten months at that time and she hadn't heard a word about it. When she found out she had missed my latest birthday by seven months she was pretty angry.

I have tried to explain to her that I simply don't like calling attention to that day and that I prefer to just let it go by. Several years I have attempted to not even realize I had turned a year older until after the fact but annoyingly enough I always do become aware that the date is approaching. Katniss can't see why I'm so adamant to ignore it but it's difficult to explain it to her. My mother never liked birthdays. When I was little I saw my friends' families making a big deal out of each such day but my mother thought they were out of their minds. Every year on the days I and my brothers had been born she would lament that we were now one year closer to the Reaping and how she wished we would just stop aging all-together. She said it was pointless and irresponsible to throw away money at food, gifts and cake on a day that wasn't a celebration anyway but merely one step closer to having our names in the reaping balls. It made me dislike that day and I still dislike it to this day but Katniss doesn't understand. I haven't told her about my mother's role in my disinterest because I know how that will go over. Katniss hates my mother. I don't want to give her any further ammunition. Yes it's true that my mother hit me sometimes, ruined the concepts of birthdays for us and was generally dislikeable on a few occasions but I still love her. She's still my mother and now that I'm older I understand her better. A lot of her negative behaviour was rooted in fear that she wouldn't be able to feed her sons and that one of them might end up a tribute. Katniss would tell me that it's no excuse for the way she treated me and my brothers but I can see the love and care that was the foundation of it all. I was also privy to a lot of tender moments on her part, times she held and comforted me, times when she snuck me a rusk or a cracker when I hadn't had enough to eat. I don't defend her actions but I can't see her as a wicked witch either and I don't like hearing Katniss talk her down.

When I turned nineteen Katniss wanted to make a big deal out of the day but I made her promise not to. When I turned twenty she grudgingly let the day go by without acknowledgement, save for a whispered "happy birthday" when she curled up in my arms to go to sleep that night. This year she seems to feel she's let me have my way enough.

"It's your birthday and it should be celebrated," she said while we were sipping our morning tea a few weeks ago.

"Why?" I answered, flipping through the pages of our morning newspaper.

"Because it's an important landmark."

"It's the twenty-first anniversary of my birth," I remarked, looking up at her over the paper. "What's landmark about it? Age is just a number and I've passed all significant ones. I turned twelve and got to have my name in the reaping balls. I turned nineteen and became a legal adult. If I live to be a hundred we can celebrate then but my twenty-first birthday is extremely uninteresting."

"No, it's not," she argued. "It's important to me. My life would have been entirely different if the events of that day had not occurred."

I rolled my eyes and focused on the paper.

"Just let it go," I told her.

"Oh no you don't. I've let you have your way for years now. This year you're going to stop being selfish and let me celebrate you."

The logic of that statement made me roll my eyes again.

"I say that I'm the one having the birthday so I'm the one who gets to decide how to spend it," I retorted. "And I decide that we're not going to call any attention to it."

"You _will_ celebrate your birthday," she countered in a tone that was not to be argued with. "It's about time you started to like that day of the year. This year I'm going to change your mind about birthdays."

I told her no and figured that would be the end of the discussion. A stupid conclusion, given how well I know the woman I live with. She wouldn't stop talking about it for several days, excitement shining in her eyes when she tried to convince me to let her make a big deal of my birthday. Finally I caved, reluctantly. I have a hard time denying her anything that makes her light up like that and the excited smile and hot kiss she gave me when I decided to let her have her way almost made me happy to have agreed.

Just a few days later something happened that took her mind entirely off of my upcoming birthday. Gale Hawthorne came back to the district. She was in a very bad mood about it at first but gradually came around. He hadn't come here for pleasure or for a vacation but rather on business which meant him and Katniss have ended up spending a lot of time together. We have been experiencing problems this year with some of Katniss' fellow hunters, some of whom are using methods that aren't considered publically safe. With the oppression of the Capitol no longer weighing down on us people have begun to expand their horizons and venture past the fences, spending time in the woods and sometimes even going as far out as the lake. One or more hunters, who have yet to be identified, have begun using unsafe traps to catch their prey, like metal bear traps, wires that trigger poisoned darts and nets that can capture a person and put them in danger of starving to death, dying of exposure or being killed by wild animals if they aren't found in time. Gale and a handful of others have been sent by President Paylor to deal with the problem. With Katniss being an expert on the subject of District 12 hunting and its woodlands she has been asked to sit in on their meetings and help them out. This has so far meant spending a lot of time out of the house and a lot of time with Gale, though so far they haven't been alone together, to my knowledge.

I've tried not to say anything about it. I know she is passionate about solving this problem and I think it's good that she's found something tied to official governing to be involved in. Hopefully it will cure at least some of her disdain and mistrust for politicians and the whole system. At first I even thought it was good that she was forced to spend time with Gale. She never talks about their lost friendship but I know it makes her sad to think about and I would like for her to at least be able to make peace with him for real.

What bothers me is that I hardly ever see her anymore. She leaves early in the morning and oftentimes comes home late. Normally she comes home around three in the afternoon and we have a lot of time to spend together. We have dinner around five every evening and then we do whatever we feel like doing until around eight o'clock when we tend to go to bed. Lately she has been coming home around six or seven, having eaten dinner with the other people in the commission. Sometimes she comes home after nine. Once she came home after midnight and that time she had me worried sick and I gave her a hard time about it when she got in. Her response was to chew me out for not trusting her to be able to take care of herself. She called me a nag. I won't lie, that hurt. After that I haven't dared to say much, despite my misgivings. She's tired and spent but seems to enjoy her time with the committee, finding she has a lot in common with them as many are hunters themselves, which makes it difficult to begrudge her the experience but I can't stop myself from feeling displeased. I miss her and I miss spending time with her. I miss having a conversation that's not about the commission. We haven't even had sex in weeks since she gets in late every evening and is never in the mood.

Oddly enough this has made me look forward to my birthday. A week ago when she crawled into bed about half an hour after me I brought up the topic and made a request. If she wants to celebrate my birthday then what I would like is a nice, romantic dinner together followed by quality time by the fireplace or in the bathtub. She said it was a great idea, before yawning big and curling into me, sound asleep less than five minutes later. Since that evening I've been excited about the day in question, knowing it will give me some much needed time alone together when all her attention is focused on me.

Now it's the evening before my birthday and I've spent the day making some preparations. Nothing particularly grand, just making sure we have fresh vegetables and candles at home, thoroughly cleaned up the place and I've baked a cake. This is really out of character for me for my own birthday, and frankly I felt stupid making it, but it's just a small one and it's mostly for Katniss. She loves cake and any excuse to feast on one is good enough in her book. So now the top shelf in our refrigerator hosts a small pear-cream cake with a chocolate coating, a combination I know she's crazy about.

A glance at the clock above the kitchen door tells me it's almost eight o'clock. Katniss isn't home yet. I'm irritated but at the same time I can feel a bit calm about it since I know that the committee is only going to be in the district for about another week and tomorrow she will be all mine anyway. With a small smile on my face I turn off most of the lights downstairs and walk upstairs to take a long, hot shower before I go to bed.

* * *

I wake up the next morning and reflexively reach out my hand to Katniss' side of the bed, finding it empty. With a tired groan I lift myself up on my elbows and open my groggy eyes, confirming that there's nobody in bed but me. Turning my head to the other side I note that the alarm clock says 07:32 which means Katniss is probably out hunting. The woods tend to be the only thing that can rouse her out of bed before eight in the morning. I allow myself a moment to think of the times when I bring her breakfast in bed before I yawn big and toss the comforter to the side.

Half-dressed I saunter down the stairs, still yawning a little and stretching to try and wake up. Sleeping to this hour is rather uncommon for me as well, usually I get up earlier than this to bake for breakfast but last night I didn't prepare any dough. There wasn't room in the refrigerator and besides, we've got bread left over from earlier this week. I cut a slice of bread from a large loaf sitting on the counter and stick the slice in the electric toaster Effie gave Katniss for her last birthday. Katniss thinks it's nearly an abomination to use _electricity_ to toast bread but I can't say I mind it much. It takes less time and it's convenient to get the toast in the kitchen.

Working my way through breakfast I open the door and let the cat in, trying not to get frustrated when three minutes later he jumps up to lie on the newspaper I'm trying to read. For whatever reason Buttercup loves to lie on something you're reading, drawing or generally paying attention to. He protests when I grab a hold of him and put him down on the floor again but he doesn't try to jump back up.

"Know your place, kitty," I say between bites of toast. "The floor is your domain. I don't care what Prim allowed you to get away with; in my house animals who lick themselves and wander around in the wild are not permitted on surfaces where food is prepared or eaten. Don't meow at me, you know the rules."

The cat leaves, tail swishing from side to side, and I finish my own breakfast, wiping the table clear of breadcrumbs before I head back upstairs to finish dressing. I've got a few things to take care of today but I should have ample time to get it all done. I'm not sure if Katniss has any meetings today or if she's just out in the woods but either way I doubt she'll be home before three o'clock. That gives me time to go to the butcher shop and buy some meat, clean the house some more and make preparations for dinner.

I decide to go to the butcher shop first. We live mostly off of the game Katniss brings home but there are only so many kinds of animals you can find and kill in the forests of District 12. If you want salmon or lamb or beef you have to visit the tiny fish booth at the marketplace or the butcher shop. Today I'm out to get some pork. We kept pigs when I was little, mostly as a side-income, but it happened a few times that my parents decided to slaughter one for our own use. I remember the meat being a delicacy, especially since we often only got to eat it after we'd been going hungry for weeks. Since the war Katniss and I have had pork meat only twice and I'm longing for it today. I remember a dish I ate in the Capitol where the meat was seasoned with fresh herbs and cooked in the oven and I'm planning on trying my hand at something similar tonight. We have wild rice and fresh vegetables at home which will go well with the meat and my mouth has been watering for three days at the thought of it.

The butcher shop is empty when I step inside, the bell above the door alerting the owner to my presence. His name is Grossman, which I find hilarious and Katniss finds stupid and ironic, and he runs the shop by himself, though his fiancée will probably start helping out once they are married. He's a little old to be getting married by Panem standards, well into his forties and, for someone who grew up in the not-so-well-off District Ten, fairly corpulent with a large, dark moustache giving him a grim look that frightens some of the smaller children. He's happy and friendly though and he loves Katniss, Haymitch and me for being, in his own words, liberators of Panem. Also, probably, for being reliable customers with decent finances, therefore able to afford more expensive fish and meat. He loves to talk and I'd only known him for about three minutes when he told me that the reason why he never got married is that he didn't want to have children in the Reaping. The next time I came in to buy something from him he gave me the happy news of his engagement to a woman from District Five. Sometimes I think I know more about his personal life than I do about Johanna Mason's.

"Peeta!" Grossman roars when he comes out from the back room and sees me. "What a pleasure! Since your lady isn't with you I take it you've come to buy, not sell."

I smile. Sometimes when Katniss brings home more game than we can use she'll sell it to Grossman, who never minds having what he calls "regional specialties" to sell. I, on the other hand, only come in here when I want to buy something.

"Right you are, Grossman," I say, wondering if the one thing I don't know about him is his first name.

"What can I interest you in today?" asks Grossman, placing his hands on his waist and grinning widely. "We have no fresh lamb but we have a whole new speciality, well, new for the district."

"Oh, that's okay," I say. "I already know what I want to get."

"You can get that, and our new speciality," he grins.

"And what speciality might that be?" I ask, mostly just to make conversation.

"Horse! Those folks in District One eat it all the time."

"Good for them," I say, not sure I'm interested in trying. "I'm looking for some pork today, though, and I think that will be it."

"You got it," nods Grossman. "How much will you need?"

I tell him how much meat I want and let my eyes wander around the store while he gets my order ready. It's surprising how much you can make a butcher shop look like, well, a shop. In my parents' bakery we used to have our selection displayed around the shop but the butcher has to keep all the meat in one place since he only has one cold display case. The rest of the store is made up of pictures of animals showing which parts of the animal turns into what kinds of meat, the price-range and, with some animals, which time of year you can get your hands on it. I smile when I see pictures that show animals I know he gets only from Katniss and her fellow hunters.

"Is there some special occasion?" asks Grossman, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"Huh?" I say, turning to face him. "Uhm, no. Why?"

"Since you're here buying butcher meat, I mean," shrugs Grossman. "I saw Katniss heading out to the woods this morning together with… her cousin? That tall, dark-haired one who now works for the government."

I want to ask if it was just the two of them but I don't. It might be interpreted the wrong way. I actually take it as a good sign that she went hunting with Gale because that means she's not working with the committee, and hopefully won't be later today.

"I just felt we could use a change in diet," I say instead, giving him a smile as he hands me the meat. "I'll tell her to stop by here and sell you anything we won't be using, if she doesn't do it herself before getting home."

Grossman grins and thanks me. I thank him in return and put the pork in my bag, heading back out to the street to run the rest of my errands.

* * *

My stomach growls as I open the oven and take out the cooked pork, setting the dish down on the stovetop before closing the oven door. I take a deep breath, revelling in the smell. It doesn't smell exactly like the dish I had in the Capitol but close enough. Since I skipped lunch due to having an additional breakfast with Haymitch when I got back from town I am now starving and dying to get a taste of the dinner I've made. It's not completely finished yet, the rice still needs to boil for a few more minutes, but that's okay. It gives me time to put the finishing touches to the setting of the table. I've brought out our fine china, the one that came with the house when Katniss moved in, and the expensive silverware we hardly ever use. A white tablecloth covers our table and I've set out wine glasses and two tall silver candlesticks to go along with the china and the silverware. All that's left is to put the salad, the bread and the main course on the table.

That, and for Katniss to come home. I look over at the clock above the door and note that it's only a few minutes past five and she will probably be here any minute. Regardless of which hour she has gotten home she knows that dinner time in this house hasn't changed and that food will be on the table at five o'clock. She hasn't called or sent any other message to tell me that she will run late so I have no reason to think she won't be here in time for dinner.

I set the glass bowl filled with fresh salad on the table and I steal a cherry tomato, chewing on it while I finish up with the rice. I light the candles and take a look around, making sure the place is clean and nice and that the mood is right for a romantic dinner. I'm excited, for the first time in my life on this particular day, and I can't wait for her to get home. I've longed for some alone time with her and it's going to be the best birthday present I could imagine to get to sit opposite her at the table, sharing a good meal over candlelight and then move on to things that require a lot less clothing. I think I want us to make love in front of the fireplace tonight. We haven't done that in a while, in fact not since winter, and I love seeing the light the fire casts on her skin and her hair.

Buttercup comes strolling in to the room, his tail lifted high in greeting, and he sniffs the air as if to determine if I'm serving anything a cat might enjoy. I already gave him a small bit of meat earlier and I decide I don't want the cat around to bother us tonight. I open the kitchen door, feeling how the air has gotten a bit colder in the evenings now, and usher Buttercup outside. He grunts but doesn't seem to mind too much. He's a nocturnal hunter anyway and trots off in the direction of Haymitch's house. I close the door behind him and go to take a seat, casting another glance at the clock. Ten minutes past five.

* * *

Two hours later I haven't moved. I'm still sitting in my chair, looking absentmindedly at one of the burning candles, noting to myself that about half of it has burned by now. The food is long since gone cold, probably approaching the point of being spoilt. Still no sign of Katniss. Not as much as a phone call.

I take a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. The worst part is I'm not surprised. I'm certainly not worried. She's been out this late, and later still, most nights since that damn committee came to the district. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what has happened. She went hunting with Gale and then she went to another meeting and forgot all about how tonight is my birthday and the night _she_ insisted that we celebrate. Instead of celebrating I'm sitting here all by myself, a ruined dinner that I spent a lot of time and effort on taking up space at the table, practically mocking me in its untouched state. I sure damn _hope_ she's with the committee. I can't shake the feeling that she's with Gale and nobody else. I hate myself for thinking that. Even if it were the truth I don't want to be mad about it. I don't want to be _that guy_. If she has male friends then what business is that of mine?

Then again, if she has male friends she spends one-on-one time with at this hour on my _birthday_ then I probably do have reason to be pretty damn pissed. But I don't know for sure that she is alone with him, just that she went out with him into the woods this morning, and I'm having an awful enough day as it is so I try not to think about it.

Needless to say my previous excitement is gone, and frankly I feel like a damn fool for having felt that way in the first place. Of course it was going to end like this. I've never enjoyed my birthday so why should this year be different? Katniss has made the committee her priority over the last few weeks, why should today be any different? I'm not at all sure she even remembers that it's my birthday today. I've never made a big deal out of this particular date so I should forgive her if she hasn't committed it to memory either.

Except she was the one who insisted that we make a big deal out of it. When I suggested a romantic dinner she said she thought it was a great idea. She knew I would be making something special for us and that I would be waiting for her at five o'clock. Yet it's almost half past seven and no sight of her.

I feel a lump in my throat and an ache in my chest. After this fiasco I am never, ever going to try and celebrate this particular day again. What's the point? It's nothing but disappointment. I'm lonely and I feel like I hardly see my girlfriend at all anymore and what bothers me the most, what I keep coming back to time and time again, is that _she_ was the one who insisted that I celebrate this day, it was for _her_ sake that I went against my own wishes and now she's stood me up.

I sit there as if paralyzed, staring at the flame and listening to the ticking of the clock. I twirl my fork between my fingers, resisting the urge to press the pointy edges against my fingertip. I can't seem to make myself move. Not until the clock turns eight and the grandfather clock in the study can be heard chiming eight times. That brings me out of my lethargy. Suddenly I hate the display of food and cutlery and the damn flower I got and put in a vase on the table. It all feels like a reminder of how she didn't care enough to come home when she knew I was waiting, or she forgot all about it despite being the instigator. I don't even know which option hurts more. What I do know is that I feel utterly humiliated and that the only way I can preserve some amount of dignity and ward off the hurt even a tiny bit is by removing every trace of the effort I went to.

All of a sudden I feel I'm in a hurry. Katniss is running late but she could be home at any minute now and I don't want her to walk through that door until I've cleared everything away. Working fast I get up and snuff out the candles, pulling them up from the candlesticks and tossing them on one of the plates together with the flower. The candlesticks and the vase go back in their places in the cabinet. Without hesitation I then take the food and toss all of it in the trash, feeling nothing but hurt and anger when I see the pork tenderloin go in the bin followed by the rice and the salad. I open the refrigerator and take out the cake, sending it in the bin along with everything else. So much for birthday cakes. Good thing I never cared for them anyway. I close the trash bag with a knot and carry it outside, throwing it in the large plastic bin on the corner of the house, feeling some of my anger and disappointment get an outlet when I slam the lid shut.

Back inside I gather all the dishes and make quick work of cleaning them and drying them off with a towel. I put everything back in its place, including the tablecloth. I've turned on all the lights by now and instead of the soft glow of candlelight the room is now lit by cold artificial light. With my hands on my hips I take a look around, trying to see if there's any further evidence of my failed attempt at a romantic dinner with my girlfriend. Satisfied that there's nothing I go up the stairs and change out of the fine clothes I'm wearing, one of the last outfits made by Portia that I still have, and into my regular clothes. I run a hand through my hair to un-style my curls, feeling only angrier as I work on cleansing myself and the house from this night, rather than more at ease as I thought I would. I'm tempted to head to bed almost right away but my stomach is still growling and even though I have no appetite I still have to eat something.

Back down in the kitchen I grab some oatmeal and make myself some porridge. I can hear Buttercup scratching on the kitchen door and I let him back in without a word. I then eat my porridge standing by the kitchen counter and once it's gone I resist the urge to wash the dishes and leave them on the dish rack for Katniss to see when she gets home. It would be mildly satisfactory to remind her of what she missed tonight but it's too childish, even for my current frame of mind. I wash the dishes, dry them off, put them back in the cabinet and head upstairs to go to bed.

Once underneath the covers I try to calm down but it's anything but easy. I can't believe Katniss did this. I try to ignore that voice inside of me that came to life with the hijacking, the one that's telling me now that this just shows how low I rank on her scale of priorities. I'm not going to have an attack tonight, not if I can help it, but the voice can be there sometimes anyway and now I can't get it to shut up. It does indeed seem like I'm not a priority to her. Instead of being here with me on my birthday she is with her committee until the late hours of the evening, or worse, she is alone with Gale Hawthorne. It's true that I did insist that we shouldn't make a big deal out of the day and that I don't care that it's my birthday but we made plans in the end and I did all the work and she stood me up.

I groan when I think about tomorrow and how I will no doubt run into Haymitch at some point. He knows about the plans we had made for tonight and he knows that I've actually been looking forward to it. He's bound to ask me how it all went and what do I tell him? That she didn't come home? That I threw our dinner in the trash after waiting for her for three hours? It's humiliating and I don't want to tell him what really happened. I can't lie to him either because he loves to tease Katniss when he knows we've done something _romantic_ , knowing she gets uncomfortable being badgered on the subject. Once he mentions it to her he's going to hear the truth and then I will look even more foolish. I suppose I'll have to try and answer him as vaguely as possible.

When I finally hear the front door open downstairs I glance at the alarm clock and learn that it's close to midnight. I close my eyes and decide to pretend I'm asleep. I can't deal with Katniss saying she's sorry and giving me some excuse as to why she never showed up and I can't deal with her acting like nothing's wrong, proving she forgot. I just want to be left alone now and hold off on deciding how to handle this until morning.

She moves around a bit downstairs, mumbles something to the cat and then begins to climb the stairs. Normally I can't hear her footsteps but the house is so quiet tonight and I have nothing else to listen for. The bedroom door creaks a little when she opens it and I hear her soft footsteps moving across the room and into the bathroom, without pause. The water runs for a few minutes, the toilet flushes. Eventually she comes back out and makes her way to the bed. I can feel the mattress dip when she gets under the covers and I try not to stiffen. For once I hope she won't seek me out under the covers and wrap an arm around me. I'm lying on my stomach with my face to the window rather than the bedroom door, wanting to avoid her but to do it discreetly. If I was on my side facing away from her she might suspect something's wrong because I never go to bed that way unless she is already in bed with me, wrapping her body around mine from behind.

I wait to see what she will do. I hear and feel her move around a bit to find a comfortable position. Then she sighs tiredly and seems to go to sleep. I'm relieved, and at the same time I'm frustrated and hurt. The previous nights when she's come home after I've gone to bed she's woken me up but not tonight.

Knowing it will be difficult to go to sleep tonight I hold back a sigh and try to fight the unpleasant feelings inside me. I can't remember the last time I felt this alone on my birthday, not even my sixteenth birthday which I spent in my house here in the Victors' Village with only a brief visit from my family to break the boredom.

I think this is the first time since we became a real couple that I have felt truly alone, and Katniss sleeping beside me is doing nothing to change that.

* * *

Yeah, Peeta's a bit… melodramatic, I guess, towards the end. But, I figure he has the right to be, every once in a while. The next chapter is from Katniss' POV.

I'd love to hear your comments! Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

I did some re-writes for this chapter but I can't seem to get the second half of it right. Being my typical lazy self I gave up on trying to make it better, partially because I realized I probably won't be able to without setting it aside for a month or two and I promised I would post it real soon. I think it holds up okay enough but it does get a little rushed towards the end.

Also, this chapter may differ slightly from the version on AO3, since I did some on-the-fly edits on that site and then kind of forgot which parts I had made changes to... My bad.

* * *

I wake up early, a smile on my face. I'm lying on my side, face to face with Peeta who is still sound asleep. His curly hair is in disarray, his breaths slow and even and there's a stain on his pillow that tells me he's drooled in his sleep. I don't know why but I find that endearing. Since he never complains when I drool on _him_ in my sleep I suppose I would have no room for complaining even if I thought it was disgusting. I lay there for a few minutes in the dark, a patch of early dawn light coming through the open window and illuminating him where he lies beside me. I should get out of bed but I want to take just another couple of minutes to watch him sleeping. He sleeps so peacefully most nights now. I love that he gets to have peaceful dreams when daytime sometimes forces him to deal with terrors that are worse than my nightmares.

Today is his 21st birthday. He doesn't like birthdays, though I've never understood why. He doesn't want to tell me and I try not to press the issue but I think it's time someone helped him appreciate the one day each year that signifies that he's gotten a year older and, most importantly, celebrates the fact that he was born. I like my own birthday and I want him to like his as well. I want it to be something we celebrate during our life together. I can't change the reasons why he dislikes them, even if I knew what the reasons were I wouldn't be able to undo them, but I can give him reasons to like his birthdays from now on. And that's exactly what I intend to do. I have something special planned for him today.

Lately I haven't seen as much of him as I would like. The committee that's been set up here in the district to deal with dangerous and unlawful hunting techniques has been taking up most of my time for a few weeks now. At first I was very uncertain about joining the committee but President Paylor herself called me and talked me into it so I figured I might as well comply. If I do then perhaps I can be allowed to leave the district soon and go visit my mother in District Four. As it turns out, working with the committee has been fun, challenging and informative in ways I had not expected. Everyone on the committee has some form of knowledge about hunting and we've had many interesting conversations about weapons, techniques, different kinds of game and basically anything else that is of interest to a hunter. We've spent hours at the training range they built last year, teaching each other new techniques, new weapons and having friendly contests, all for the purpose of better understanding what we're dealing with. We spend the days studying the various traps we are trying to get rid of, looking into who the perpetrators might be, writing up suggestions for new legislatives and the like. Gale and I have shown the others parts of the woods here and I have taken them to some of the locations where people have gotten hurt by traps. In the evenings we sit at a large table in one of the district's two hotels and continue to discuss the same things we went over during the day, only at that time of day we tend to become less professional and more like a group of friends hanging out. It's been fun. I don't feel like I've ever been a part of a group of likeminded people this way and it's been good for me and, I believe, helped me come out of my shell and aided in my recovery.

The downside is I've been spending a lot of time away from home. Peeta hasn't voiced any objections but that might have more to do with him being a decent and supportive significant other than with him not caring that I've been away a lot. Several evenings I've wished he was there with us, even though I know he wouldn't find our topics of discussion interesting, and sometimes I've left the group early so I can have an hour or two with him before bedtime. The committee's work is wrapping up and they will all be leaving in a week or so and things will go back to normal once they are gone. I've taken today day off, anything but willing to change my plans for the day. I've been making these plans for a while now and it has to be today.

Allowing myself one more minute of the luxury that is watching my boyfriend sleep I smile and daydream about what the rest of the day will be like. Then I get out of bed as quietly and carefully as I can. Peeta groans and smacks his lips, rolling over on his other side but staying asleep. I grin a little and resist the urge to lean down and kiss him awake. Instead I walk quietly to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Dressed in my hunting clothes I open the front door ten minutes later, letting Buttercup out. I follow him down the pebbled path that leads to the road and to our mailbox, grabbing the newspaper so that Peeta can read it while he eats breakfast. Leaving the paper on the kitchen table I grab my game bag and head out the door, drawing a deep breath, filling my lungs with fresh October air. It takes me about twenty minutes to walk into town, and from there an additional ten to reach the Meadow, which is where the gate in the fence is located. I'm halfway through town when a familiar voice gets my attention.

"Always an early bird, huh Catnip?"

I turn and smile shyly. Gale is standing outside his hotel, leaning back against the wooden bannister of the front porch, one leg crossed over the other. He's got a smirk on his face, crossing his arms over his chest. It's strange to be around him. We haven't been alone together since he arrived and all our conversations have been polite but a touch cool. I don't know how to talk to him anymore and whenever I look at him I can't help but picture him sitting with Beetee, coming up with the trap that killed my sister. I wish he hadn't come, but of course they selected him for the committee. Aside from me he's the one who knows the woods of District 12 the best. It would be foolish not to ask him to be part of it.

"Where are you off to?" asks Gale. He smiles a bit and begins to walk closer. "You know, it's been a while since I've actually hunted. Do you mind if I come with you? All the talk these past days and our little excursions into the forest has made me miss the good old days."

I can't help but wonder if this is an offering to get away from the rest of the committee and clear the air between us. It's been three years since the war ended and Prim died, enough time for me to get through the worst stages of grief. I don't hate Gale, nor do I miss him as my best friend, but finding a middle-ground would be good for us both. I would like to at least say we have some form of friendship between us, even if years go by between each time we see one another. It's better than animosity. I know I have about five or six hours before I need to be back home and Gale might actually be helpful to me while I'm hunting. I can't seem to find any good reason to turn his offer down.

"Okay," I say. "Just… One condition."

"Name it."

"I get first call on whatever we catch out there today."

He chuckles and nods for the hotel doors.

"You've got it. Let me just run and get my stuff."

I smile slightly as he runs off to get his gear. Gale and I coming to an understanding and finding some form of footing for a future friendship might actually fit very nicely in with what I have planned for the rest of the day.

* * *

It's beautiful out in the woods today. October has not seen any frost this year and leaves are all coloured in red and yellow. Birds are tweeting above and around us and even the upcoming conversation with Gale, which will no doubt be difficult, can't seem to ruin my bad mood. I almost want to whistle a tune to the birds but stop myself since I don't want to risk scaring away all prey within a two-mile radius.

"So, are we hunting for anything in particular?" asks Gale as we walk through the forest, loosely following the route that leads to the glade – our old glade.

"Quail," I tell him over my shoulder.

"Quail," he echoes. "So why quail?" he asks after a minute.

"It's Peeta's favourite."

I mention my boyfriend's name without any trace of the old guilt I used to feel. I haven't made any effort to hide my relationship from Gale since he's been back in the district. I see no reason to. Peeta and I have been together since the year the war ended, which is more than three years now. Even though we've never made a public announcement about it we haven't kept it secret either. I don't feel I have any obligation to take Gale's feelings into consideration, if it even does bother him to know that I live with Peeta these days. We live separate lives now, Gale and I, and I honestly think he's happy for me rather than jealous or begrudging.

"What if we can't find any quail?" asks Gale with an upbeat tone. "What's Peeta's second favourite animal? If the answer is moose then you're on your own."

I suppress a laugh. If we can't find quail then it's not the end of the world but I am hoping to be able to bring home Peeta's favourite game so we can cook something nice tonight. If my hunting is unsuccessful I plan on stopping by the butcher shop and buying something we don't normally get, like beef or pork tenderloin. I want tonight to be special.

"So you and him…" says Gale behind me. "That's the way it ended up, after all?"

"That's the way it ended up," I confirm with a nod.

"Yeah I had a feeling it would." There's a pause. "I'm not going to deny that I hoped you would have a change of heart but I knew you wanted him more and in the end…" He pauses again and I turn my head to look at him. His face is contemplative. "Maybe you and I weren't right for each other anyway, you know?"

"Yeah maybe…" I say.

We're both silent for a little bit, knowing we'll reach our old glade any minute now. When we do reach it we sit down in our old spots and smile awkwardly at each other. It seems unimaginable that we could go from being as close as we once were to being where we are today. If you had told me this four or five years ago I would have protested and fought tooth and nail to keep Gale beside me. Sitting here today I wonder if our friendship was doomed from the start. We came together through a mutual need to feed our families and for a brief period in our lives we were very likeminded. Fundamentally, though, we've turned out to be too different from one another. I don't know if my world-view and moral compass was changed by being a tribute and by knowing Peeta and I'm not sure what influenced Gale's mind but here we are, two former best friends who now have far too different views of life to be able to be compatible.

The issue I can't get past with him is his opinion that the ends justify the means and that sacrifices must be made for the greater good. I can't hate him for killing Prim – his intention was never to hurt her. In fact he was almost as devoted to keeping her safe as I was. Even so he ended up being one of the masterminds behind the trap that took her life. To me that proves that all of my objections to his line of thinking are valid. He and Beetee thought up that trap with the best intentions, to give the rebels a strong weapon in warfare. In the end it took the life of one of the people Gale wanted to protect the most. When you gamble with other people's lives as acceptable risks you inevitably put your own and your loved ones' at risk also. What worries me is that I don't know if Gale's viewpoints have changed after what happened to Prim or if at the end of the day he felt it was a sacrifice worth its cost.

"Are you happy?" I ask him, surprising even myself with the question.

"Happy?" He looks a bit taken aback. "I'm okay. I've got my demons…" He looks away, making a pained face. "I never thought I'd see the day when this place wasn't my home. I'm building a new life for myself in Two, and it's a good life. So I suppose you could say that I'm happy." There's a pause. "I miss you though, Katniss."

"I don't know if we'll ever be whole again," I say, talking about more than just his and my friendship. "Sometimes it still surprises me that I can feel really happy. That it's not just all doom and gloom. That despite everything I've been through and lost my life still has space for genuine happiness."

"If Peeta can make you feel that way then I'm happy for you."

I smile a little.

"I'm lucky to have him." I hark my throat. "So tell me about your life. What's it like in Two these days?"

We sit there for a while and talk, though not about anything substantial. He tells me about his new life in the other district, I tell him about some of the things that have been happening here. He laughs when he finds out that Buttercup and I have buried the hatchet and now actually even get along. After a while I begin to feel like too much time is passing by so I rise to my feet and suggest we get on with the hunting, seeing as no animals have passed us by yet. I've spotted quail near the lake recently and in the hopes of finding them still nearby we set off in that direction, Gale walking ahead of me. We walk in silence, though it's a fairly pleasant silence. As we head deeper into the forest I begin to let my mind wander, smiling to myself as I think about what the rest of the day will be like.

The special plans I have made for Peeta today will only cover the afternoon. We then have all evening together to do whatever we feel like. Peeta has said he wants a romantic dinner and to me that sounds like a lovely idea. It's been a while now since we've last sat down to dinner just the two of us, with candlelight and toe flirting and the unspoken promise of pleasurable things to come. That brings my mind to how the night will undoubtedly end and I'm grateful that Gale is walking ahead of me and unable to see the blush on my face. It's been a few weeks since Peeta and I last had sex, which actually makes this our second-longest dry spell. With my committee schedule we haven't had much time, and I haven't had much energy, to get physical together but tonight I plan on changing all of that.

I feel a surge of excitement run through me. I have a feeling it's going to be different tonight. Our sexlife has for the most part been very good and satisfying but for a while now it's gotten a bit, dare I say, formulaic? We both always leave satisfied and happy but we've found a method that works for us and rarely deviate from that anymore. Our foreplay stays creative but it almost always leads to me being on top with Peeta and I both focusing on bringing me to my peak. Once I'm finished we switch places and shift the focus over to him, which sometimes also brings me to my peak again. There's something about Peeta's energy and passion in those moments that makes me feel highly satisfied, knowing that he's being driven to that point by me, that my body can get him that excited and that gratified. It's a satisfying modus operandi that works for us both but every now and then it's fun to mix things up and do something different.

Tonight I'm willing to do anything. Anything he wants to do. However many times he wants to do it. Thinking about it makes me grin widely and I wish we could find the damn birds already and head back home so I can wrap my arms around him and wish him a happy birthday in ways only I am allowed to do.

I hear the metallic sound a fraction of a second before the commotion begins but it's already happened long before I can react or call out a warning. The bear trap snaps shut around Gale's right calf in the same instant he sets his foot down on it. The shock makes Gale drop his weapons and the combined sound of the trap snapping shut and the weapons hitting the ground causes a flock of birds to scare and fly away. I hear Gale's scream of pain the same second I send an arrow flying at the flock of birds, my hunter's instincts reacting before any other part of me does. This was not how I had hoped to find quail but since I got one bird I might as well try for two and I manage to take another one down before dropping my bow and quiver and kneeling by Gale's side. He's on the ground, his foot locked in the bear trap, the leather of his boot pressing into his ankle along with the metal spikes. His face is white and contorted with pain and I feel panic rising in me. We're three hours into the woods by now and we have neither the tools necessary to unlock the trap nor any method of communicating with anyone in town. God only knows how I'm supposed to get Gale out of here.

"Gale?" I say. Despite my inner turmoil I manage to keep my voice steady and commanding. "Gale! Are you okay? Look at me. Is anything broken?"

I know what force those traps close with and how sharp they are. Best case scenario Gale's right foot is going to be broken and bloodied. Worst case scenario he could end up losing it, just like Peeta lost his left leg.

"Get the birds," Gale hisses through gritted teeth. "Get the damn birds. I won't have this excursion be for nothing."

Relieved to be given something to do that doesn't involve his foot I dart off to find the birds I shot, my absence allowing him a moment to get a handle of himself and, possibly, the situation. My heart is pounding and I'm not thinking entirely straight so it takes me a minute or two to locate the birds, even though I saw where they went down. Once they are in my game bag I run back to Gale, who is trying to pry the trap open with his hands, though he must know it's futile.

"Don't try," I say, kneeling beside him.

He lets go of the trap and leans his head back, screaming in pain. Trying to suppress the panic I study the trap as carefully as I can manage to make myself do, trying to think of anything I've learned about these contraptions that might get them open. I know they come with a key to unlock them but there's naturally no key to be found.

"Shit," I mumble through gritted teeth.

"Katniss get me out of this thing!" says Gale, sounding pained and a little bit panicked. "Get me out!"

I reach inside my game bag to try and find something, anything, which can be of help. I find the army knife Haymitch gave me once and hastily look through the various tools on it, trying to think of one that might be helpful. My eyes land on the hinge screws on the trap and using the blade of the knife as a screwdriver I begin to try and get them out. Gale hisses and groans through gritted teeth, trying to pry the trap open with his hands. I know he feels he has to do something to try and get it off himself but his right hand keeps getting in my way and with irritation I try to swat it away.

"Keep your hand away so I can work!" I snarl, stress making my voice harsh. Despite the cool autumn temperature my brow is starting to get damp with sweat and I have to pause and wipe my forehead with my sleeve.

"Make it quick, please," he pleads in a strangled voice.

It feels like I'm working forever but finally, _finally_ , the screws come undone and I can take the trap apart. Gale cries out when I pull the metal from his flesh, his torn boot coming off halfway in the process, but my own relief quickly vanishes when blood begins to pour out of the puncture wounds.

"Damn it!" I snarl, instinctively pressing my hand against as many wounds as I can cover which causes Gale to scream out. "Shit!"

"Thank you," says Gale in an exhaled relief, his jaw then clenching. His eyes squint and I can see a few tears escaping. "Damn it, this hurts."

"We've got to do something about this bleeding," I say, trying to think of what my mother or sister would do in this situation. "Focus Gale! Do you have anything in your bag to help bandage a wound?"

He gives me a look. I try to think of anything I might have that could do the trick but I didn't bring anything like that with me. I think of what I'm currently wearing but my pants and my jacket can't be made into bandages and it's too cold for me to go without the shirt I'm wearing. Then I look at Gale's attire. I bark at him to put his own hands over the wounds and he does, but he protests when I try to shove his jacket down his shoulders.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"What are you wearing underneath the jacket?" I demand to know.

"A sweater," he says, wincing in pain.

"Okay. Okay… That might work."

I get him to remove his jacket and I try not to cringe at the blood that flows more heavily when he lifts his hands from the wounds. Grabbing the army knife I find a small pair of scissors and use them to try and cut one of the sleeves off his sweater. Gale seems to think I've lost my mind but he's more busy moaning over the wound on his foot and lets me work without interruptions. It takes considerable effort but after a while I manage to cut through some of the fabric, miraculously without giving Gale further wounds, and I use both hands to try and tear the fabric apart. After what feels like forever I get the sleeve off the sweater and I use it to tie around Gale's ankle, trying not to be affected by the sound he makes as I tighten the fabric as much as I can. I cringe when I see that his foot, ankle and calf have begun to swell up and that his foot is looking rather pale. Memories surge to the forefront of my mind, of Peeta in the arena with a wounded leg. I tell myself that this is nothing like that, that it will all be fine.

"How do you feel?" I manage, trying to ignore that I'm trembling.

"Peachy," Gale groans. "Actually it's a little bit better now… The tourniquet helps. Just not sure how I'll get my boot back on…"

"Forget about the boot, it's useless now."

I take a moment to try and catch my breath. I'm on my knees on the cold ground, blood and dirt all over, sweating from the exercise even though the warmth of the sun can't quite reach us where we sit. Gale is breathing heavily, trying to fight against the pain and gather his composure. His hands grasp his right leg just above the tourniquet. His foot is badly injured, bleeding and probably broken. Who knows what damage has been done to his ligaments and muscles? I remember the last time I tried tying off somebody's leg wound and I'm scared that Gale might end up losing his limb. We're out in the forest, two and a half hour's walk from town at the least, and now it's going to take longer to get back.

It's Peeta's birthday. I have plans for us today. It's been a while now since the trap closed around Gale's foot and I would need a brisk walk to get back in time to make all arrangements without stressing. But with Gale in this condition there's no way that is going to happen. In my head I try to calculate how long it will take to get Gale back to safety. If we get moving now we might make it back in time.

"Come on," I say, rising to my feet. My legs feel stiff and my feet have fallen asleep from staying in the same position for too long. "We can't stay out here. We need to get you back to town."

"Yeah," Gale nods, holding out his hand. I help him get up to standing and he takes a moment to put his jacket back on and brush himself off. I can tell his foot aches badly but he puts on a brave face. Gale has been in pain before. He can handle this. He has no other choice. I move to stand beside him and he drapes his arm over my shoulders to support himself. He then takes a step, shifting his weight to the damaged right foot. The scream that follows sends chills down my spine but I refuse to give up. "This is not going to work," he grimaces.

"Yes it is," I insist. "It's going to work because it has to work."

"You should leave me here," he suggests. "Run back to town and send somebody here to help me. A hovercraft would be nice."

"I can't leave you alone out here. You're as defenceless as Peeta when Cato had stabbed him in the leg." I can't help but wince. Peeta's injuries in the arena are the last thing I want to be thinking about. Dwelling on it will do us no good right now. I need to make Gale focus and try to help him see past the pain. "You have to _move_. Hop on one leg if you have to."

"All the way into town?" he questions, giving me a look despite the pain he's in.

"All the damn way to the Capitol if need be," I snarl, having no time for compassion. "We have to get back, Gale. You need medical attention, as soon as possible. I can't leave you out here and I can't carry you so you're going to have to figure this out somehow. Now _focus_ and try to help me be constructive."

He makes an anguished face and slowly, slowly shifts his weight to the damaged foot. Immediately he winces and lifts the foot up again.

"Can't," he grunts through gritted teeth.

"Then _hop_ ," I bark.

Something in my tone of voice must be getting to him because obediently he begins to do just that. He manages a couple of yards this way, wincing with each hop as it reverberates to his injury, but then he stops.

"I can't go like this all the way back."

"Okay…" I say, my mind working as fast as it possibly can. "Okay… A crutch, then. A sturdy tree branch or something. Something for you to steady yourself on."

He seems highly sceptical but doesn't bother protesting. I leave him for a few minutes and set off through the trees to find something that would suit the purpose. My eyes scan the area in search of something suitable but I'm so wound up by now that I know I'm not looking properly. I can't help it, each passing second feels like an eternity and the clock keeps ticking. Even though Gale is the one in trouble all I can think about is how I won't be able to make it back to town in time. Why did I have to go out hunting today in the first place? Why did I have to bring Gale with me? Why couldn't I have stayed at home and dedicated the entire day, from its first moment to its last, to Peeta?

* * *

I don't know which is worse. The grunts and groans of pain that escapes Gale's lips every two or three steps as we hobble our way back through the woods, knowing that we've been walking for an hour and still have at least four times that long to go before we'll be getting near town, or the fact that I really need to pee. The broken tree branch I found for Gale to use as a crutch lasted about forty minutes and then broke. Right now he's using my shoulders as a crutch and it's starting to hurt. I tell him to take a breather and sit down on a nearby tree stump so I can go looking for another branch.

"This is insane," he groans as he sits down. He reaches down to touch his ankle and winces. The blood has stopped flowing but the foot looks more swollen now. "We've covered, what, twenty minutes' distance at a regular pace?"

"We'll get there," I say grumpily. "Just sit tight while I find you a crutch that isn't my shoulders."

I walk through some trees trying to find another branch. I take the opportunity to take care of my bathroom emergency but when I glance up at the sky I feel anything but comforted. It's still early in the day but the plan was for me to be back no later than an hour past noon. There's no way I will be making my deadline now. I think of Peeta and I long for him, badly. If he were here with us we could work together to get Gale back to town. Better yet, if I was back at home with him I could be showing him just how happy a birthday I want him to have and how utterly grateful I am that he was born in the first place. I sincerely hope we'll be able to get back early enough that Peeta and I can spend some quality time together. I would love to sink into a hot bath with him after all of this and forget about the way Gale's wound looks, the smell I think I'm beginning to detect, the worry of what might happen to Gale with his foot in that condition, the ache in my shoulder and everything else. What I wouldn't give to fill my nose with the scent of Peeta's baking, have Peeta's body be the one pressing close to mine and to spend the rest of the day showering him with affection instead of trying, and failing, to encourage Gale to believe that things will work out fine.

Finally I find another branch, hopefully sturdier than the last one, and make my way back to the path. Gale is sitting where I left him, eyes closed, face looking pained. He's a touch pale and it worries me. I feel bad for him. The only reason he came out here was to try and mend the bridges with me and the only reason he went as far into the woods as he did was because I wanted quail for Peeta. I know I'm not being very compassionate with him and on some level I feel bad about thinking far more about my boyfriend than about him and his wound. But I can't help it. This is not where I want to be and while I try my best to hide it I'm growing increasingly frustrated with Gale's injury each passing minute.

"How bad is the pain?" I ask to announce my presence.

"It's alright," he blatantly lies, taking my hand to help get to his feet.

"There are all sorts of medicinal plants around," I say, mostly just to say something. "I can identify a lot of them but I don't know how to use them. Except willow bark but we'd need to boil some water for that."

"Katniss stop talking about medicinal plants," Gale grunts. "It's easier to imagine that there's nothing around that can help than that there's tons of stuff I could take but we don't know how to administer it."

I nod and do my best to help steady him as we again begin to move at a snail's pace through the forest. I'm half convinced I will lose my mind completely if I don't get to move faster soon but that doesn't change the fact that Gale can't go faster than this and I still can't leave him behind to go get help.

"I want you to know…" I begin hesitantly, hoping to find something to talk about that will keep both of us distracted from the situation at hand. "I don't hate you. For Prim."

He nods slowly, his shoulder slumping a bit with relief.

"That makes one of us, then."

"I don't hate you for her death," I insist, "because I know she was never meant to be hurt. We just look at things too differently, you and I. There has to be a way to win the day without making it about who racks up the highest kill count. Peeta taught me, very early on, that you have to be able to live with yourself afterward and that diplomacy is worth a try."

"Diplomacy would never have gotten us anywhere with President Snow," argues Gale. At least for the moment I seem to have his attention enough that he doesn't think as much about the pain in his leg. "It's a lovely sentiment but it doesn't work in the real world."

"Peeta seems to think it could," I argue back.

"If everybody thought like that we would have been under the Capitol's thumb until the end of civilization."

"If everybody thought like that there wouldn't have been an oppression in the first place," I retort. This seems to silence him for a moment but I realize that's not a good thing since it will make him think about his foot again and we were actually moving faster when he was a bit riled up. "Peeta is an idealist. Amazingly he is still like that, in spite of what they've made him suffer through. I would be lying if I said I was exactly like him. I think violence is necessary sometimes, for the preservation of your own life if nothing else. Where I can't see eye-to-eye with you is when we start talking about _acceptable loss_. Disregard for life is…" I can't bring myself to finish the thought. It's a harsh thing to accuse him of to his face, even though I've thought it about him a thousand times.

"It's not about that," he says sourly. "It's about a bigger picture. What do you think would have cost more lives in the end, huh? One big attack or a drawn-out war?"

"First of all you have no way of knowing that the war would have continued without that attack," I reply. "The bombs that killed my sister weren't designed to end the war. They were propaganda."

"That was not the idea when Beetee and I designed it," says Gale sharply.

"No…" I admit. "But the idea was to kill as many people as possible. To kill people coming to the aide of others. Brave, selfless people like Prim."

"Prim should never have been out there in the first place," mutters Gale through gritted teeth. "She was too young."

"Is there an age limit where it's suddenly okay that you're killed?"

Silence falls between us again. I realize we're taking the discussion into dangerous territories but if it helps us move faster I am all for it.

"Have you _honestly_ forgiven me for her death?" Gale then asks.

"I have," I say. It's the truth. With the help of dr. Aurelius, Peeta and Haymitch I have, in time, come to realize that holding on to anger and resentment won't do me any good and won't honour Prim's memory. I forgave Gale a long time ago but that's not to say I'm okay with every aspect of who he is now. "I'm having a hard time making peace with your values and morals, though, truth be told."

"I've oftentimes found it hard to understand yours," he admits, wincing, grunting and huffing as he painstakingly makes his way through the forest. "How you could care about your prep team when their sole purpose in life, in _your_ life, was to prepare the lamb for public slaughter. How you could call Cinna a decent person when he _willingly_ was a part of the Hunger Games." He puts a bit of weight on his wounded foot by accident and cries out in pain and stops, biting his bottom lip and breathing heavily through his nose for a moment. "There was no future for us as a pair, was there?" he then says. "Even before Prim died and even if you hadn't already fallen in love with Peeta."

"I don't think it would have worked out, no," I say. I don't add that his view of the world scares me sometimes. There's a cold quality to him that sometimes gets a touch too reminiscent of the oppression we were fighting against. "Come on, Gale, we've got to keep moving." I give his arm a tug and he takes a deep breath and begins to move again.

"You and Peeta are a good match though," he says. "Strange… I thought he was all wrong for you when I first became aware of him. I thought he was too meek, too sheltered, too… Well, too peaceful, I guess. That he wouldn't understand the fire and passion in you."

"We're different on surface level," I agree. "Different in all the right ways. We balance each other out. It causes conflict at times and it's not always easy. Deep down though we are a lot alike. The rest can be dealt with, but those basic parts of you…"

I don't finish the line of thought. Gale doesn't either. Neither one of us speaks for several minutes and I understand that my attempt to divert him has played itself out. I can tell the pain and the strain is getting to him and that there won't be any point in trying to have a meaningful conversation anymore. He's too wrapped up in his situation and while I want to trigger as much of his zest as I can I also need him to stay focused, and pushing him further won't accomplish that. I look up at the sky, trying to determine what time it is. We're not moving fast enough, even by my calculations of how long it should take us with Gale in this condition. I'm starting to get really worried.

* * *

Hours pass by and we don't seem to be getting any closer to town. I know we're still about a mile or two from the glade and we still have quite a ways to go once we've reached it. It's been hours since I gave up hope on being back in time and I force myself to try and not think about what I had planned for Peeta today. It's too painful to recognize that none of it will come to fruition. Right now I need to focus on Gale whose physical condition is more pressing. The sun is beginning to set and I am growing concerned for real. It's going to get cold once the sun has gone down, Gale's foot needed medical attention hours ago and we're both out of water and quite thirsty and hungry. Or at least I'm hungry. Gale threw up a few hours ago and I'm guessing food is not very high on his list of priorities at the moment. It's difficult, though, to not let my mind drift back to Peeta. He'll have dinner ready on the table in less than half an hour and I'm not even in the glade yet. I hope he didn't go to too much trouble preparing it since he will have to eat it by himself, or invite Haymitch over. No offense to Haymitch but he will be a lousy substitute for me when the plan was for a romantic, candlelit dinner.

"I can't keep going," Gale sighs, completely spent. "My right foot is killing me and my left is aching like hell too from this strain. Let's not even _begin_ to talk about my arm and hand working crutch number four…"

"I don't care," I say. "We're getting you back to town and that's the end of that."

"We've been out here for almost ten hours," he points out. "Somebody's going to start to miss us soon. Let's just find someplace to hang tight and wait for them to find us. Shouldn't Peeta be getting concerned and send someone out here to look for you? Or go looking himself?"

"He has no reason to get concerned," I say bitterly. "I haven't been home to have dinner in weeks. For all he knows I'm hanging out with you and the others in the committee."

"Then someone in the committee will go looking for us."

"Who?" I snort. "Who knows that we're out here? Face it, Gale, we're on our own. Now shut up and keep on moving because I'm cold and hungry and Peeta expects me home in about twenty minutes."

"Didn't you just say he won't be surprised if you don't come home to dinner?"

"That doesn't mean he stops expecting me," I mutter, my heart aching with longing for the man who would be welcoming me into his warm embrace if I could only get to set foot inside our home real soon. I need his warmth, his steadiness, his comfort, almost as much as I need to be there and reassure him that today matters.

Gale doesn't argue the point and we keep on moving. My back and shoulders ache from carrying both mine and Gale's weapons along with my game bag, and from helping Gale. I almost want to suggest that he gets down on all fours and crawls but I know that's far too undignified for him to ever agree.

"Look, we'll reach the glade in a bit," he says. "Once we're there you can sit me down and go get help. We'll be close enough to town that it won't have to take forever."

"And leave you in the dark and cold without any means of defending yourself? That wound has bled enough that predator animals will be more than happy to get a chance to come closer to you."

He doesn't argue with me. Not that I'm not very tempted to take him up on his suggestion. I'm beginning to feel an ache in my chest, knowing that Peeta is expecting me at home and I won't be there. I'm beginning to realize that I probably won't make it home until six o'clock, at the earliest, and by that time dinner will already be in the past tense. Not only have I missed the chance to carry out my own plans but I won't even be able to be there to start off _his_ request for the day. One thing is for sure – the instant I walk through our front door I am going to absorb myself completely in him, letting his presence wash away the awfulness of what I've experienced today and do nothing for the rest of the day but show him how much I care about him.

But the minutes keep ticking by, now seemingly going so fast whereas before they felt like hours. I can only hope Peeta will understand once I get back to him.

* * *

It's dark when we finally reach the gate. The Meadow is deserted and without the light from the streetlamps reaching far enough to illuminating it it looks dark and dreary. Gale, who is running on some extra energy I never knew he possessed, makes it across the grass to the road and then sinks down on the ground underneath a light post, completely spent and moaning in pain. I haven't taken a closer look at his foot for a few hours now and I'm afraid to see what the damage is.

"Go," he groans. "I can't move another inch. Get someone to come for me."

Knowing he's somewhat safe now that we're on this side of the fence I summon my own spare energy and take off running in the direction of the small hospital that's half-way finished but thankfully at least has a working emergency room, a surgical unit and two or three small wards. I don't know if one of those wards is orthopaedic but if not they can airlift Gale to another district. Right now the immediate concern is getting him warmed up, giving him some fluids and tending to the parts of his wounds which they can treat in the emergency room.

Under normal circumstances I could make a run of this distance without too much effort and strain. These, however, are not normal circumstances. I'm exhausted, aching all over, thirsty, hungry and the knot in my stomach gets more intense with each passing minute. It doesn't take long for me to feel the taste of blood in my mouth as I run and I'm not even halfway there before I have to stop and take a breath, my heart pounding in my chest and my side hurting. I groan, each breath burning hot as it enters and exits my body, and I lean forward for a second to try and compose myself. There are a few people out and about and most of them seem to be looking at me yet none of them come up to me. Which is just as well. I don't have time for any of them right now.

I'm forced to settle for a brisk walk the rest of the way to the hospital and when I barge through the doors the nurse by the counter jumps to her feet, seemingly thinking that _I_ ' _m_ the one in need of medical attention. Between gasps for air I manage to explain to her that there's a man with an injured foot in need of serious medical attention as soon as possible. She goes someplace to spread this information but I'm barely aware at that point. I stumble over to a nearby chair and collapse onto it, feeling both cold and sweaty at the same time and so hungry and thirsty that I don't even know which is more pressing. I shut my eyes hard for a moment, trying to gather my wits, and when I open them I immediately begin to scan the room for a telephone. I can't make it home just yet, not until I've gotten a little bit of rest and I know Gale has been taken care of, but I can at least call Peeta and let him know where I am and what's going on. Just hearing his voice would make me feel better. With whatever energy I still have left I force down the longing to be near him and I make myself stand up from the chair, walking slowly over to the counter where the nurse is busy gathering papers.

"Phone?" I croak, my throat feeling incredibly dry.

"In a minute," she says without looking up. "First of all I want somebody to check you out. And you need some fluids in you."

"To hell with that," I reply. "I need to call Peeta."

"Sorry, mam, but we don't have any phones," says the nurse. She finishes with her papers and places the stack on top of the desk.

"You just made a phone call," I point out with a scowl that would frighten many a less brave person.

"The phone line is internal." She walks around the desk and takes me by the arm, leading me over to sit on a gurney. She grabs a cart nearby and pulls open its top drawer. I barely pay attention at first, trying to figure out what my next move should be, but when she pulls up my sleeve and fastens a tourniquet just above my elbow I react.

"What are you doing?"

"Placing a line," she answers calmly, wiping a spot on my lower arm with an antiseptic swab.

"Are you insane?" I bark. "I'm not the injured one! I'm in a _hurry_! I have to get home."

"You need fluids."

"So give me a damn glass of water!"

The needle goes into my arm, about a decimetre above my wrist, and I wince automatically. The line is quickly placed and fastened with some transparent adhesive material and before I know it she's got me hooked up to a dripping IV bag. I scowl at her and she pays me no heed. The second she gets up on her feet and turns her back to me I reach up and speed up the drip, hoping to flush it all in as soon as possible so I can get out of here without further argument. Unfortunately she turns back around and notices and finally that pleasant veneer of hers cracks and she scowls right back at me and gives me a lecture on why it's not good to flush an entire litre of fluids into your system.

"Then get me off of this thing so I can go home!" I bark.

"The doctor needs to see you first."

"I'm fine! Gale's the injured one. It's not like you can _force_ me to have medical treatment anyway."

"Just give it a few hours," she sighs. "You'll feel better then."

" _Hours_?" I rise to my feet and reach over to yank the IV line from my arm but she's quicker than me and manages to stop me. "I can't stay here for hours. Peeta expected me home ages ago!"

"At least wait here until your friend is brought in," she says, slightly exasperated. "We might need your help to figure out what's happened to him. We don't know what shape he'll be in. And please, let the fluids go in. You won't get home any faster if you pass out right here on the floor."

I sink back down on my seat, wondering what condition she expects Gale to be in. I glance up at the IV bag and hold back a sigh. I suppose I might as well allow it to stay in while I wait, acknowledging that she's got a minor point. But I have to get a hold of Peeta.

"Can I have that thing placed on something with wheels?" I ask. "I at least need to head over to the hotel where the commission members are staying and talk to them."

"Out of the question, miss. You can move around in here but not exit hospital premises." Just as I'm about to snarl at her again she looks over at a nearby corridor. "I can send someone to run over to that hotel for you, if need be."

"Need very much be," I say dryly. "And someone needs to go to my house, out in the Victor's Village."

"I can't spare anyone to go that far. But someone will speak to those commission people real soon, I promise."

Realizing I'll have to settle for that I sink back on the gurney, my feet still on the floor but my upper body lying down on the semi-soft surface. I close my eyes shut for just a second, exhausted both mentally and physically. It feels good to be lying down for just a brief moment. So good, in fact, that I'm lulled off to sleep for a good two or three minutes, awakened again by the sound of the doors flying open as four men come carrying a gurney with Gale lying on top of it. I sit up straight and fly to my feet, forgetting about the IV until its plastic line jerks me back slightly. With a groan I reach behind me and grab the bag, putting it on an IV stand with wheels beside the gurney and bringing it with me to Gale.

"Gale!" When I say his name he turns his head in my direction and opens his eyes. Now that medical personnel have got their hands on him he seems to have collapsed entirely. He looks at me, his face ghastly pale. "Gale. How are you feeling?"

"Go home," he says, managing to smile. "Apologise to Peeta for me, will you? For keeping you all day. They're promising me some good drugs, Catnip..."

They roll him through another pair of doors and I remain standing there, all alone, nothing to do but wait for someone to come ask me the necessary questions.

* * *

"Katniss you have to come out with us and it has to be _now_." Peterson's voice is firm and unyielding. Peterson, the head of the committee. Peterson, who won't listen to my objections even for a second. "That trap needs to be found and confiscated and investigated, and it can't wait."

"Yeah?" I say tiredly, leaning back on the gurney. "How do you plan on finding it in the darkness? It will still be there tomorrow and we can find it _then_."

"You should have brought it with you," he sighs.

"I had enough trouble getting _Gale_ back with me!" I protest sharply.

Peterson makes a face and runs a hand through his thinning hair. I glare at him with no intention of giving in. We've been over this three times already and the way I see it nothing's going to change. There is no point in trying to go out there tonight and find the trap. Even if we did, how much is the trap going to prove anyway? I've spent the past thirty minutes trying to get a hold of a telephone but nobody seems interested in allowing me to leave this gurney. I would have pulled the IV out myself and just headed out the doors if it hadn't been for the many questions a nervous young doctor asked me shortly after Gale was first brought in, the very insistent officer who wanted to know all the details of what happened to us and now Peterson. However, I am done suffering Peterson's inflexibility.

"You really want to head out there tonight?" I ask.

" _Yes_!"

"Well I won't go with you," I say matter-of-factly. "I have Peeta waiting for me at home and I'm exhausted and, by the way, may I remind you that heading out into the woods in the dark only puts the rest of us at risk for stepping on traps ourselves? If there's one out there you know there'll be more. It's a terrible, _terrible_ idea. We wait until morning."

"We have headlamps."

"Oh, well in that case," I say, rolling my eyes. Enough of this already. I sit up and without further ado yank the line from my arm. It smarts and a stream of blood immediately begins to roll down my arm and down onto the floor, mixing with the IV fluids spilling from the catheter that was previously inside my vein. "Here's what's going to happen, then. We head over to the hotel and I call Peeta to let him know why I haven't come home yet."

"Since when is that important?" snorts Peterson, handing me a plaster from a nearby cart. "You've been out later than this every other night and you haven't called him."

I try to ignore the painful feeling in my chest at hearing him point that out so casually. Clearly I haven't been the best girlfriend of late but that's nothing compared to my failure today. I stick the plaster on my arm and press it against my skin to get the bleeding to stop as soon as possible, hopping down on the floor as I do. Trying to keep my voice steady I give Peterson a glare.

"I need to call him and once I've done that I will show you on a _map_ roughly where to go look. I will not come out with you."

"You will," he replies confidently. "One of our own got hurt out there today. You know you want to sink your teeth into this just as much as the rest of us do. Boyfriend at home can wait."

I don't answer, grabbing my jacket and putting it back on. With a very surly expression on my face I push back the fatigue as best I can and stride out of the emergency room, ignoring the nurse calling out to me. It's gotten windy out and I shiver as Peterson and I head for the hotel. I wonder if there's ever going to be an end to the mess I'm experiencing today.

* * *

The car that drives me home later that evening has tinted windows, including one that separates the driver from the person in the back seat. It's a government car, designed to allow important people to have secluded conversations while in transit. Sinking back against the plush leather seats I am grateful for the tinted glass that shields me, as I almost instantly break down and begin to sob. It's been an indescribably exhausting day on all fronts and I keep hearing Gale's screams of pain and the sound of the trap closing around his foot and when I close my eyes I see the horrible wound inflicted. I keep hearing the sound of the signals going through as I tried to call home and tell Peeta what was happening, but there was no answer. In my frazzled state of mind it didn't occur to me until later, when I was guiding the other committee members to the glade, that he could have been with Haymitch and I should have tried calling there. My mind is a jumbled mess and my emotions are in turmoil and I'm so indescribably disappointed that I didn't get to carry out the things I had planned for today.

Peeta, my thoughtful Peeta, will understand. I missed his birthday though I was the one who wanted to celebrate it in the first place, but he will accept it. That's just who he is. I vow to myself, and to him, to make sure he knows I don't take such a thing for granted and that I didn't just blow him off today. That all I wanted was to be with him and make his birthday special. That getting Gale back to safety through the woods and sitting in an emergency room waiting for news and trekking with the committee out to the glade and then showing them how to navigate to the place where the trap was set out were the last things I wanted to do today. That I didn't have much choice in the matter. That when the choice is up to me I will always choose him. Hopefully he will believe me, though if I am to be honest with myself I haven't given him much reason to lately.

The driver stops half a kilometre from the Victor's Village. There's a no-drive zone leading up to where we live and I'm okay walking the last stretch and letting the cool October night clear my head. Sticking my hands in my pockets I begin my walk, no longer in any rush, knowing that it's almost midnight and even if I hurry home it won't make much of a difference at this point. I hope Peeta is still up. I hope he's waiting for me. I hope I can explain right away what's happened and seek solace and forgiveness in his steady embrace and that I can at least end this day focusing on him and only him. I'm shivering in the cold, barely remembering when I last didn't feel freezing, and my feet feel like they weigh a ton. The short walk takes me longer than usual but finally I reach home and walk up the porch steps, stepping inside to the familiar warmth.

The house is dark and empty. Quietly I take off my outerwear and my shoes and walk to the kitchen, craning my neck to glance into the sitting room. Peeta isn't there. With a heavy sigh I look around and draw the conclusion that he's already in bed. I almost begin to cry again from sheer disappointment. I missed his birthday completely. Midnight isn't here yet but he's gone to bed. Looking around I see no signs of any dinner having been prepared, nothing out of the ordinary at all. He didn't want to celebrate today anyway so hopefully he just shrugged it off when I didn't show up and carried on as if it were any other day. Any other day like the recent days when I've been home late and missed dinner.

Buttercup is lying on the kitchen table and I shoo him down. He runs slalom between my legs and purrs slightly, a sound that I find reassuring.

"Did you at least wish Peeta a happy birthday?" I ask him with a sigh, leaning down to scratch him on the head. "Do you know if his day was good? God, Buttercup, my feet are killing me…"

I haven't had anything to eat so I open the refrigerator but find no leftovers from whatever Peeta had for dinner. I'm too exhausted to cook so I grab a slice of ham and wolf it down while I make my way up the stairs, each step feeling heavy, my whole body exhausted. The house is quiet and it's hours past when Peeta normally goes to bed so I open the bedroom door quietly and move silently to the bathroom. A quick glance at the bed confirms that Peeta already called it a night before I got home. Biting back my disappointment and fatigue I wash my face by the sink, use the toilet and brush my teeth. I stare at my own reflection for a full minute, about ready to cry again. This was not how I intended on ending this day.

When I lift up the covers and crawl into bed Peeta is on his stomach, face turned away from me. He's pretending to sleep. He does that sometimes, rarely, and I always let him think he's got me fooled but I can tell from the way he breathes that he's not asleep. If he wants me to think that he's sleeping he doesn't want me to disturb him. Pain shoots through my heart. He hasn't done this any other night when I've gotten in late. He's upset with me. It's not hard to guess the reason why. No doubt he actually did want to make something special of this day and I never showed up. Even if I give him a kiss and beg for his attention right now his birthday was over a few minutes ago and it's too late. Instead of all the great things I had planned for him this year I ended up inadvertently making his birthday something worse than it would have been if we just let the day go by unnoticed. That knowledge really hurts. The last thing I ever want to do is cause him pain. I want to be the opposite of that in his life – I want to be a source of happiness and comfort and pleasure. But I failed him today.

I bite my bottom lip hard, trying to keep myself from breaking down. I need his arms around me and his reassuring voice telling me it's alright but I've disappointed him and he wants his space. How can I ask him to tend to my needs when in his mind I must have abandoned him today? I want to curl up to him and apologise from the bottom of my heart and explain everything to him but I know that I will have to wait until tomorrow. If the only thing I can give him tonight is the space he's telling me he wants then I can't deny him that, no matter how much I need him.

I twist and turn for a while, my guilty conscience keeping me awake despite the fatigue in my limbs. Peeta makes no move to acknowledge that I've joined him in bed. When I do fall asleep I do so with the full knowledge that I let him down today and with the full intention of making it up to him in any way that I can.

* * *

I borrowed/ paraphrased a snippet from "the Brothers Lionheart", one I think I've used before actually. Astrid Lindgren fans might recognize which bit of dialogue I'm referring to.

Since this chapter ended up quite long I decided to go with the three-way split, meaning an epilogue will follow in roughly a week or two. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

*deep breath* Okay, here we are at last... This took me months longer than I expected it to and I can only hope it's not a complete disappointment.

The reason it ended up being so delayed is that I decided to expand on it and change the POV around. Originally it was all Katniss' POV, now it's divided between the two of them (Katniss' POV is in italics). In making this change I expanded a lot on Peeta's part and in the middle of doing so, and re-writing what I had previously written from Katniss' POV, I got a really bad case of writer's block. And between work and life I've simply been too exhausted to do any work on this.

I know I've said this before but I'm not happy with the final product here. Usually when that happens I re-work something for a while and then get to the point where I can't be creative about it anymore and so I post it. This is kind of what happened here too, but with only brief re-workings. I was afraid that if I didn't get this up now I might not be able to for another couple of months. I figured better to post it now and just let it be what it is. Also I haven't had time to proof-read so I hope I don't have any embarassing errors in here anywhere.

* * *

"Peeta, are you ready?" she calls to me from the downstairs hallway. Her voice sounds casual but I can hear her foot tapping impatiently.

"Just a minute!" I call back.

"A quick minute, I hope!"

I bite back a chuckle at her inability to hide her desire to get going. We have plans to walk into town and have lunch with Delly Cartwright and the new boyfriend she's been over the moon for these past six weeks. I don't really think Katniss is _that_ excited to have a meal with Delly and a man we've never met before but I agreed that we could stop by the marketplace if there was time, so she could pick up a new set of arrowheads. My decision to go to the bathroom before we left was not exactly met by untainted approval.

"I'm coming!" I call out to her as I begin to walk down the stairs, one hand on the bannister. As I get further down the stairs she comes into view and I almost stop for a second, struck by how lovely she looks. Even after a few years together it still takes me by surprise sometimes that this gorgeous woman lets me be hers. She seems particularly pretty right now with the sun streaming in from the window by the door illuminating lighter streaks in her dark hair. She's wearing her hair loose, has a touch of makeup on and I smile at her choice of wardrobe – an orange dress that is almost a touch cold for the season but since we're going to be indoors for the majority of the day it doesn't quite matter. She very rarely wears dresses but I know Delly will appreciate the gesture. After the rebellion it seemed as if sweet, dear Delly regressed a bit, a coping mechanism as valid as any I suppose, and she likes to keep things "girly", as Katniss puts it. When we share a meal with her and one of her boyfriends – this is her fourth in as many years – she prefers it if the boys wear nice shirts and dress pants and the girls wear dresses or at least skirts. I don't know why it matters so much but Katniss grudgingly complies every time, and I love her for that.

"I put your shoes out, and your jacket," says Katniss, reaching for her own warm autumn coat. "You look nice, by the way."

I chuckle and thank her for the tacked-on compliment. As I kneel down to double-knot my shoelaces I hear her foot beginning to tap impatiently again. She's really eager to get her hands on those arrowheads. It amuses me a little that she's so bad at hiding it, though I play along and pretend like I don't notice things like that. She doesn't like it when I can read her like an open book on matters of that ilk.

Straightening my back I grab my scarf and wrap it around my neck, for a brief moment thinking about Portia who made it for me, then I open the door and hold out my arm for Katniss to take.

"Ready to go?"

"Sure."

"Okay then," I chuckle.

With her arm linked with mine we walk out the door and she closes it behind us. We step down to the path leading from the front porch to the road and begin our walk into town. I turn my face up towards the sky and smile at the bright shining sun. It gives just enough warmth for the autumn day to be pleasant, but not enough to warm it up to the point where you might still think it was summer. A few clouds sail by but they are few, far between and thin. Birds are flying across the sky, heading south for the upcoming winter. The threes that line the road into town are all red and yellow and orange, with a few spots of green lingering here and there but not yet any brown. I love this time of year from an aesthetic viewpoint. The trees, in particular. I know I've told Katniss that my favourite colour is orange like the sunset but sometime I wonder if maybe it's more correct to say that it's orange like autumn leaves.

We don't make much small talk as we walk. Katniss seems impatient, yet probably not looking forward to the lunch with Delly and her latest love. I know Katniss finds it a bit tedious trying to get to know a boyfriend who might not be sticking around for very long. I, on the other hand, like to believe that each new guy my friend falls for will be the one she has a lasting relationship with. Delly's sweet disposition and upbeat nature makes it easy sometimes to forget that she carries a great trauma, too, having lived through the bombing of District 12 and losing her parents, at the age of seventeen. I imagine that having to see a close childhood friend in the state I was in in District 13, not to mention trying to bring me out of that and back to my old self, must have taken its toll on her as well, even though she would never admit to it. Her search for a man to share her life with is, in my opinion, undoubtedly rooted in a longing to have a new family, a new person in her life to depend on through thick and thin. Someone who is there all the time, sharing his life with her, and not just seeing her from time to time the way a friend does. I want her to find that man she's been looking for. I want her to have her happiness and security. She deserves it.

As we walk I steal a glance at my own special someone. Katniss' eyes trail from one spot to the next, the expression on her face difficult to read. She looks over at me and catches me looking at her. She smiles, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes, and then her eyes are on the move again. Some part of me wonders if her mind is on the memory of everything that transpired a year ago. Exactly one year ago. Today is my twenty-second birthday, but aside from her wishing me a happy birthday when we got out of bed this morning there's been no mention of it. I'm glad, not to mention relieved. While we did sort everything out last year and we haven't spoken of it since I'm very pleased that this year she has respected my wish not to celebrate the day. It's a day like any other, and that's how I prefer it to be.

As we continue on our walk the road bends slightly to the right, and other people begin to come into view as we approach town. Katniss seems more alert all of a sudden, her eagerness apparent by how her arm tenses a little and she cranes her neck forward, as if she'll get to the marketplace faster if her chin beats the rest of her face there. I chuckle softly.

"Relax, don't worry," I say. "We have plenty of time. Unless the arrowheads are all sold out you'll get your booty."

"I hope so," she says, her voice slightly strained.

We slalom through the crowds of people who are out and about, many of whom are likely doing their weekly shopping. Katniss' arm slips from mine and instead she grabs me by the hand, leading the way through the crowd with her typical determination. She doesn't like being out amongst this many people when she's got errands in mind. It annoys her when people stroll about leisurely and thus end up in her way, and it angers her when people stop in the middle of the street without looking around to see if they'll be in anyone's way. She likes efficiency and doesn't have much love for just strolling around and window-shopping. I've tried to argue that a lot of people like walking around town as a way of getting some sun, some fresh air and some exercise but she argues back that there are plenty of other places where one can accomplish those things without being in everyone else's way.

We make our way through the crowds until we reach the marketplace. I let go of her hand and nod in the direction of the bakery.

"You go ahead and get your arrowheads. I want to stop by and see how things are going."

She smirks at me and raises an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me you still don't trust the hired help?" she teases. We both know that even though I have several employees who are more than capable of running the bakery so that I don't have to be there all day long, six days a week, I have a bit of a hard time completely letting go of the reins.

"You caught me," I pretend to admit. "And just as I was about to lie and say I was just going to pick up some pastries to bring with us to Delly's."

"Don't do that, if you're considering it," she says. "You know Delly's already got a full meal planned and she might feel upstaged."

She kisses me on the cheek and heads off into the marketplace. I remain in place for a few seconds, watching the back of her head as it disappears into the crowd. Then I head over to the bakery and enter through the back door, which leads to a small kitchen where me and my five employees have our meals and take our breaks. I wasn't able to bring myself to having the back door lead to the bakery kitchen itself, feeling the ghosts of my dead family members and the place I grew up in far too strongly, but that left me with only the staff kitchen as the option. Admittedly it is quite an odd choice but my employees all claim they love it, ostensibly because they can open the door and sit on the stop to enjoy their meals on sunny days. I think they're just being nice, or trying to avoid getting on the boss' bad side, but no matter. It is what it is. As I walk inside the room in question there is nobody there, as it is still another hour until the first person takes a lunch break. My mind goes to how me and my brothers used to take turns having lunch, doing it in overlapping shifts so that someone was always manning the storefront and someone always had company for at least part of their break. I unbutton my coat and remove my scarf and try to focus but it's hard to silence the memory of their voices. How many birthdays did I spend working at the bakery all day, sometimes even selling birthday cakes to others, knowing I wouldn't get one for myself? Both my brothers used to sneak aside some form of treat and give it to me that evening when we would gather in my bedroom. I did the same for them on their birthdays. It was the closest we got to celebrating but it was our own small way of defying our mother and showing that we cared about one another.

There are three doors in the small staff kitchen, not counting the one leading outside. One leads to the bakery kitchen, one to a small bathroom. I head for the third, which leads to my office. It's a cramped room with no natural lights. While the bakery was being built Haymitch kept insisting I was a moron for not adding a second story where I could have all these rooms he deemed unnecessary but which I insisted upon. His opinion was that the downstairs should be official bakery business and the upstairs could be room for the staff and for my office. I stubbornly refused to listen, even though I knew all along that it would mean cramped spaces. I wanted my new bakery to differ as much as possible from the one in which I grew up, and even though that bakery had no staff kitchen and the rooms upstairs were our private living quarters I still didn't want a two-story house. Katniss never offered an opinion in these discussions. I suspect that she agreed with Haymitch but understood my reasons for not wanting it that way.

I walk up to the small cherry wood desk, the surface of which I keep neat and tidy at all times, and I take a seat on my comfortable office chair. I came here to check up on how the business is going today but when I walked through the door the melancholy feeling got a hold of me and I want to hide away for a moment. I closed the door behind me walking in so no one knows I'm in here and I will be left alone. My fingers play with the goatee I've been growing for the past few weeks. The glumness takes my mind from the years I spent not making a fuss of my birthday in another house with another bakery which once stood about a mile and a half from where I am sitting right now, and instead onto the way I didn't celebrate my birthday last year. I'm not still upset about what happened. I haven't even thought about it in about eleven months or so. We sorted everything out and moved on with our lives and it became just one of those unfortunate things that happen between two people who love each other and share a life together, which ultimately means very little in the big picture of a happy relationship. I guess it's just the fact that it happened a year ago today, combined with how much I miss my brothers right now, that brings it all to mind.

The thing that comes to the forefront of my mind is not the disappointment I felt when she never showed up, or the humiliation at having gone to all that time and trouble only to be left sitting there alone while the meal went cold. It's the suffocating feeling of not being important enough, or wanted enough, or loved enough. A relic from a childhood with a sometimes abusive mother and a father who allowed it, but mainly a consequence of the hijacking. Most days I know that my girlfriend loves me and that she had so many other, better, less complicated options after the war than to shack up with a traumatized, amputated, mind-raped individual whose mind was still partially wired to think of her as not just the enemy but as _not_ - _human_. Choosing me was not the convenient choice. I was as far from the default option as could be at that point. Heck, even getting together with _Haymitch_ would have been a more logical option if what she wanted was just to be with somebody, anybody. She knew that being with me meant a struggle, especially at first, because she and I both had a long road towards healing and part of my process was getting over the part of my brain that saw her as the enemy. In fact I wouldn't have blamed her if she'd decided that loving me was not enough at that point to carry us both through it, and she'd have chosen to be on her own until we were further down the road of recovery. But that's not what she did. She welcomed me home, welcomed me into _her_ home, her _bed_ even. I knew she loved me before she made love to me for the first time. There are times when the remains of the hijacking makes me doubt it, forget it even on really bad days, but when my brain is allowed to be my own I never doubt her feelings for me. But the hijacking brought another layer, too. Something that has stuck with me throughout the entire healing process, after "real or not real" became a part of my life. I've come to really despise _not real_. I accept it as part of life but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

I groan slightly and lean my head back so that it rests on the top of the chair, my eyes looking upward at the ceiling without really seeing it. My one remaining foot touches lightly on the floor and pushes the chair to sway lightly from side to side. Last year while the committee was working the issue of _real_ and _not real_ was on my mind a lot. How I wanted Katniss' actions and her choices to be real instead of not real. In our life in general I want her to do what she wants to do and to be honest about it. And Katniss, being Katniss, almost always is. It's a complicated set of emotions that sometimes collide with what I want in my heart but my desire for _real_ above _not real_ wins out in the end. While last year I wanted her to be home at a reasonable hour, have dinner with me and spend the evening with me I wanted her to do those things because she wanted to. I want that choice to be _real_. If she had stayed home for my sake even though she would have rather been with the committee then that would be _not real_. It would be a loving gesture on her part, one I'm sure she'd make for me, but deep down I would be unhappy about it. Because I want to know that when she chooses to spend her time with me it's because she wants to do that more than she wants to do anything else.

And for the most part that is exactly what she does. I have her love and attention in great quantities. In fact, before the committee came to the district and after they had left I can't remember more than a handful of evenings when her choice has been anything else than to be with me, whether we stay at home or we're out doing something else. So therefore I would have felt terrible begrudging her those few weeks of working with the committee, knowing that she enjoyed it and that she was making friends and feeling like she was contributing. I know it in no way diminishes the way she feels about me. But the thought of her sitting at home with me, or taking a walk together, or laying on a blanket on the Meadow watching the sunset, and having her mind be somewhere else and having her on any level wish she was elsewhere or feeling like she's missing out… No, I don't want that. I want an honest no over a dishonest yes, always. I want _real_ over _not real_.

I missed her a lot during those weeks when the committee was here and I felt heartbroken when she didn't come home on my birthday but I couldn't bring myself to speak up about it because I was afraid of forcing her hand. I knew that if I told her I was lonely and asked her to leave early every evening and come home to spend time with me she would probably acquiesce. The only time I doubted that was that night when I sat all alone and watched the hours of my birthday slowly tick away. But if I had asked her and she had come home to me every evening I would have been tormented by that demon in my mind questioning if this was really where she wanted to be. I just don't like asking things like that of Katniss. I take great comfort in knowing that every moment she spends in my company is of her own choice and that there is nowhere else she'd rather be.

The sound of an oven tin hitting the floor, followed by a yelp and some muffled expletives, startles me and I sit back up straight. My mind returns to the present moment. I wonder what it was that fell onto the floor and presumably got ruined. Hopefully it was an empty tin but if so then the cursing wouldn't have been necessary. I decide to just shrug it off and not go investigate. I can easily afford whatever that was ending up as waste, even if it was something costly. Another startling difference from the bakery I grew up in, where we had to be extremely precise with measurements and such to make sure not a single grain of sugar was wasted or ended up on the counter or the floor.

Having been brought out of my thoughts I look over at the clock on my desk – a dreadfully tacky marble and gold thing that Effie sent me – and conclude that wallowing-time is over for right now. Katniss will no doubt be waiting for me. I get on my feet and begin to button up my coat, hoping I won't run into any of my employees on the way out and be delayed.

* * *

 _I wake up alone in our bed. The faint light of early dawn streams in from a gap in the curtains from the closed windows and through the fluttering curtains of the open window. It's chilly, the temperature outside probably no more than ten degrees, if that. For a few seconds I'm not sure how come I've woken up since I feel absolutely exhausted and in need of at least another eight hours of sleep. Looking over at the alarm clock I see that it's just after six o'clock, which means I haven't slept more than five hours at the most. Then I realize the reason why I'm awake despite my fatigue and lack of sleep. With Peeta having risen the bed gets cold real fast, even when I haven't spent my sleeping hours pressed up against his warm body._

 _The thought of my beloved makes me wide awake. I sit up and turn my eyes to the bathroom door but there's no light coming from around its edges, meaning he's not in there. I look over to the wooden chair where he usually puts his clothes if he intends to wear them the next day and the chair is empty. I feel an urgent sense of discomfort, fearing that he might have gotten up a while ago and is on his way to the bakery, and this makes me toss the comforter aside and shivering in the cold morning grab a pair of pants from the floor. I find my bra next to the pants and I put both pieces of clothing on and hurry over to the closet to find a sweater. Not bothering with socks I leave the bedroom and tiptoe down the stairs, listening for any sound of my boyfriend. I bite my bottom lip, wondering how he's feeling and if there's going to be hurt in his eyes when they meet mine – if he's still home, that is. If he's not I will have to hurry to the bakery to talk to him but the last thing I want is to talk about this at his place of business, with customers and his employees there._

 _Then I hear the unmistakable sound of his footsteps, one real foot and one prosthetic creating their own particular duet as he moves about in the kitchen. I can hear him pouring something into a cup and set a kettle or pot down on the counter. I breathe a sigh of relief. At least he's home. Now I can explain to him in private what went on yesterday and why I failed to come home and celebrate him. I can wrap my arms around his neck and look into his eyes and assure him of my feelings for him and ask him to forgive me for whatever hurt I caused him yesterday. We can talk without interruptions, without stress. I can make things right and we can make things good._

 _The phone rings, startling me. I hear him take a few steps and then I hear his voice, slightly husky in the morning, talking to whoever is on the other line. I hear Peeta say I'm not awake yet, then after a few seconds ask if the caller wants him to go upstairs and wake me. There's another bit of silence and then it sounds like he's repeating back instructions; whoever is calling wants him to go wake me up if I haven't gotten out of bed on my own in twenty minutes. I close my eyes and sigh with dismay. It has to be Petersen calling. He was completely set on all of us, minus Gale of course, heading out into the woods at sunrise to find the trap and take care of it along with any others. I have no intention of doing so. They can manage on their own – they'll have to. I'm staying home today. Right now I have a sinking feeling that my relationship needs my time and attention more than the traps, and that it might be very bad indeed if I choose to go out into the woods instead._

 _Opening my eyes I steel myself for whatever look will be on Peeta's face when I walk into the kitchen_. _Knowing him he will forgive and forget once he hears what happened but first he must be told about it and from the way he faked sleep when I got in last night I know he is, or at least was then, upset. I hate seeing him sad or hurt or disappointed. Who wants to see emotions like that reflected on their beloved's face? I am incredibly disappointed myself that my plans for yesterday came to naught but I can handle my own disappointment far better than I can handle his. I want to shield him from things that hurt, not be the cause of them. Especially on a day like his birthday._

 _My heart is pounding in my chest when I walk into the kitchen, my hands nervously forming fists around my thumbs, then pulling my thumbs back, then forming fists around them again, over and over and my mouth feels dry. I find Peeta over at the counter, spreading butter on a slice of toast, and I feel a pang of sadness. He looks normal and unconcerned to the casual observer but to me, his life partner, he clearly looks upset. There's tension in his shoulders and the look on his face is_ too _normal. I know he spent years growing up learning how to disguise the things that hurt or bothered him, not wanting people to know when he was sad. Part of it was, I'm quite convinced, to keep his mother from getting irritated with him but a large part was also to keep others from knowing about her childrearing techniques. He doesn't like to talk about it, his mother has been a sensitive subject with him for as long as I've known him, but my guess is that is has to do with protecting his pride and his dignity. And to think that today he's trying to disguise that he's upset because of something_ I _did is painful, and it brings a frown to my face._

 _"_ _Good morning, sweetheart," I say, my voice hoarse and with a faint tremble. The endearment feels out of place given the circumstance, as if I'm playing along with him and trying to act like nothing is out of the ordinary._

 _Peeta turns his head and looks at me. His eyes reveal nothing._

 _"_ _Good morning," he says back. He takes a sip from his mug and then sets it down on the countertop. "They called from the committee. They were expecting you fifteen minutes ago but they said to tell you that they're collecting some supplies and won't be heading out for another forty-five minutes, so you don't have to rush."_

 _"_ _I'm not going with them today," I say. Peeta looks at me funny, almost as if he wonders if I've gotten my dates mixed up and think that today is his birthday. Then he shrugs and his eyes leave mine as he picks up his mug again and takes a sip while he puts cheese on his toast. I swallow and leave my spot in the doorway, taking a few steps closer to him. "Peeta I… I'm really sorry about yesterday. Truly, I am. Things just… got out of control."_

 _"_ _Don't worry about it," he says, sounding weary. His brow furrows as he looks from the ham to the thin slices of turkey. He chooses the ham and puts it on his sandwich. He then picks it up and carries his breakfast over to the table. "You know I don't care to celebrate my birthday anyway."_

 _"_ _Yes, but we made plans yesterday and I owe you an explanation for where I was."_

 _"_ _I know where you were," he says calmly, taking a seat at the table. "You were with the committee. I wasn't worried."_

 _"_ _Darling…" I say, my head tilted_. _Those three sentences say so much more than the sum of their words. I haven't fully realized it until now but unless I'm mistaken Peeta is indeed feeling hurt but it's about more than just the perception of having been stood up on his birthday. Only once has he expressed any displeasure with my involvement with the group, and that time I had gotten in exceptionally late and he had been worried about me. I can't help now but suspect that he's had misgivings but has kept it to himself. I wonder why._

 _I walk up to the table and pull out my chair, taking a seat opposite him. He swallows a bite and washes it down with another sip of coffee._

 _"_ _What do you want for breakfast?" he asks, deflecting the issue I want us to talk about. "There's more toast on the counter if you want it."_

 _"_ _Peeta…" I say softly._

 _"_ _Talking about yesterday can wait," he says. "You need to hurry if you want to eat and shower before you leave."_

 _"_ _I told you, I'm not going out with them today."_

 _He gives me a pointed look._

 _"_ _Katniss, we both know there's no reason why you shouldn't. We'll talk about last night when you get back home. I'm heading to the bakery after breakfast so you don't need to play hooky to prove a point to me."_

 _"_ _And you shouldn't try to deflect or downplay," I retort, crossing my arms on the table and leaning forward. "Go to the bakery, but not until we've talked."_

 _"_ _Talk about what?" he asks, sounding exhausted and disheartened._

 _There's a moment's pause during which I study him intently. My guess is that he is hurting but he doesn't want to acknowledge it, doesn't want to give it power over him, and he doesn't want to feel like he's losing face. But the fact that he doesn't seem to think it's worth talking about it worries me._

 _"_ _I love you," I say spontaneously. To my great relief he smiles._

 _"_ _I know you do. I love you, too."_

 _"_ _And we do need to talk about this. I'm serious."_

 _"_ _I didn't want to celebrate my birthday in the first place," he says, and it almost feels like an accusation. He seems to realize that and looks a touch sheepish, turning his eyes to his breakfast. "I just wish you would have called. That's all."_

 _"_ _I went out hunting early in the day to bring home quail for dinner," I tell him. "Gale went with me. He stepped in one of the traps that people have placed out there in the woods. A bear trap. It snapped shut on his ankle."_

 _Peeta looks up at me with a worried frown. I hear the sound of his prosthetic foot scraping across the floor. I suppose he, if anybody, knows what it's like to injure your legs real bad._

 _"_ _How is he?" he asks. "Is he alright?"_

 _I almost break out into a smile. Despite everything, Peeta's kindness and his concern for others, traits that haven't been lost even through all the hell we've lived through, are what define him and what his instinctive first reaction is based on. I honestly wouldn't have blamed him if, for the first few seconds, he disregarded what I had just told him. But that's not him. No matter how hurt or angry or disappointed he was a minute ago my Peeta is now worried about Gale. And I love him so deeply for it. More than he will ever understand._

 _Since smiling is not an appropriate response right now I keep my expression serious as I nod and assure him that Gale will be fine, even though the truth is I have no way of knowing that for sure at this point. I swallow hard and the memories of yesterday come flooding back and I tell him about it, as much as I can bear to tell. I don't want to talk about the pained look on Gale's face, or the way his foot smelled of blood and after a while of something else I'd rather not think about, or about how my muscles ached after hours of carting a full-grown man through the woods. I tell Peeta the most basic version, just enough so that he will understand that I didn't set him aside or forget about him._

 _"_ _The entire time I thought of you," I assure him. I reach out and place my hand on top of his, relieved when he lets my hand stay. "You have to know that."_

 _He nods slowly, his face contemplative. I want to know what he's thinking but the silence stretches out between us for over a minute. Then he pulls his hand back and uses it to lift the last piece of toast to his mouth. He chews slowly, his eyes staring at some spot behind me, and after he's swallowed he turns his eyes to me._

 _"_ _For how long were you out there?"_

 _"_ _I don't know," I tell him. "Hours. Fifty, it felt like."_

 _"_ _What I'm asking is, at what time did you finally make it to the hospital?"_

 _Slowly I move back until I'm sitting with my back against the chair. I get where he's going with this and this is the part where it gets tricky. I can't be sure he'll be so understanding about this. I could have gone straight home to him once Gale was at the hospital but I stayed a while longer. At the time I didn't feel I had any other choice but in the cold light of morning I can't deny that it looks quite different._

 _"_ _I don't know what the time was," I say. "But it wasn't near midnight. Look, when I got there Gale wasn't with me, I left him at the Meadow and sent people from the hospital to bring him in, but they insisted that I wait until he had arrived. And they insisted I needed fluids, which was probably true, and some overly ambitious nurse jammed a needle in my arm and the next thing I knew I was hooked up to an IV."_

 _"_ _Katniss you don't need to explain," he says wearily, running a hand through his hair._

 _"_ _I got stuck in a dead-end conversation with Petersen," I continue on. "He had the brilliant idea in his head that we should jet off into the woods at that late hour to go find the damn trap and any others that might be out there, as if the darkness wouldn't just put us all at risk of having our feet stuck in bear traps."_

 _"_ _Katniss," he says, firmer this time, holding his hand up. "It doesn't really matter, does it? You don't have to account for every minute."_

 _I pause and look at him. His handsome, familiar face, the ashen hair that falls in waves over his brow, the eyes that are so gorgeously blue. He only meets my eyes for a moment, turning them instead to his coffee. He stirs it with a spoon, round and round. The clinking sound the spoon creates is the only thing heard for about a minute._

 _"_ _I called," I then say. He looks up, skeptical. "The hospital didn't have a phone line to call out but the minute I got to the hotel I found a phone and I called."_

 _"_ _Did you call_ this _number?" he asks dryly. "I didn't hear the phone ring and I was home all night."_

 _"_ _I called," I insist mildly, leaning forward again and crossing my arms on the table._

 _There's another long moment of silence. Peeta then nods, accepting my words._

 _"_ _Well that's that, then," he says. "Listen, there's no way I can be angry with you for not coming home yesterday under those circumstances." He hasn't used the word "angry" before._

 _"_ _I wanted to be here, love," I say, again placing my hand on top of his. "More than anything. I really wanted to be with you and make your day special."_

 _He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes._

 _"_ _What do you say we just put yesterday behind us and move forward instead?" he suggests. "My birthday never was important to me in the first place._ You _are important, and while I was feeling quite abandoned yesterday I understand now why you weren't here and I don't see a reason to dwell on it. We'll have plenty of other nights to have dinner."_

 _"_ _How's tonight?" I suggest with a soft smile._

 _"_ _Sure," he says, but he sounds skeptical. He pulls his hand away, rises from his chair and grabs his now empty plate and mug. "Listen, you should get a move on. You can still make it if you eat there and don't shower."_

 _I scowl, watching him bring the dishes over to the sink and put them down there to be washed. He can't honestly think I'm going to go out into the woods with the committee today? Even if he does head off to the bakery once he's shaven and brushed his teeth I still don't feel particularly up for being in the forest after the day I spent there yesterday. I get up and take a few steps towards him. His back is turned to me as he fills the sink up with warm water._

 _"_ _Peeta for the last time, I'm not going. I didn't get to be with you yesterday and I want to make up for it today. If you need to work I'll hang out at the bakery, maybe help out and man the cash register. I want to be near you."_

 _He throws me a look over his shoulder._

 _"_ _If there are more of those bear traps out there you need to find them. You know I'm right. I appreciate you wanting to be with me today but I think the time for that is not this day. You and Gale are the only ones who know where that trap is and Gale can't go. The committee will be here for, what? One more week? Two? You and I have all the time in the world to spend the day together." He turns the faucet off and drops some washing-up liquid into the water-filled sink. "The work you're doing is important, to you and to everyone who lives here."_

 _I walk up to him and put my hand on his arm. He's got that far-too-casual air about him again. Something feels infected and I want to stick a needle in it and drain it of whatever is festering in there._

 _"_ _They can get by without me," I insist._

 _"_ _Sure didn't seem that way when Petersen called. You shouldn't put yourself on the sidelines on account of me. I love you and I'll still be here when this is over."_

 _"_ _Be honest with me. This is me you're talking to and you don't have to give me the so-called_ right _answer. I want_ your _answer. Does my working with the committee bother you?"_

 _His hands freeze in the middle of scrubbing the coffee pot and he looks so genuinely surprised that I know his answer is the truth._

 _"_ _No." He resumes scrubbing the pot but he keeps eye contact. "Katniss I am proud of you. You're doing good work. And I'm happy for you. You're clearly enjoying yourself and I love seeing it."_

 _"_ _Then what? Clearly something is troubling you." He snorts and breaks eye contact, then turns his face in the other direction as if he didn't mean to snort like that. "Peeta what is it? I need you to tell me."_

 _He draws a deep breath, letting it out in a huff. I wait in silence as he finishes washing up the few items from his breakfast, lets the water out and grabs a towel to dry his hands. I can practically see his mind running a mile a minute. He puts the towel away, turns to face me and leans back against the counter, his hands grabbing its edges._

 _"_ _It's not the work with the committee that…"_

 _"_ _Bothers you?" I finish for him when he drifts off. It's a little annoying that he won't acknowledge it by name._

 _"_ _I just…" He makes a frustrated grunt. "You know, it's… I mean, how many meals have we had together since this project started?"_

 _"_ _I don't know," I say with a shrug of my shoulder._

 _"_ _Yeah," he says, sounding a bit dejected. He lets go of the counter and slowly walks towards the sitting room. "Look, never mind. It's not worth talking about."_

 _"_ _If it makes you unhappy then it_ is _worth talking about," I argue, slightly irritated. I follow him into the sitting room where he stands with his back to me, his hands on his hips._

 _"'_ _Unhappy' is a strong word."_

 _"_ _Displeased, then. Or bothered, or frustrated, or whatever word you think is best. Peeta come on, let's talk about this."_

 _Talking about why I didn't show up for his birthday didn't lead to an argument, even though he would have been justified taking it there. But this, this seems to be getting us there. Perhaps that's good. So long as he doesn't try to evade the fight. Peeta doesn't like to argue. At the start of our relationship he was afraid of losing control and drifting into what he called a "hijacked state" so he felt safer withdrawing. I suspect that was only part of the reason, even if it was the largest part. Despite our history together and our years of being in a relationship there are still a lot of things I don't know about this man and I know I won't have all the answers anytime soon._

 _"_ _Darling," I say, using my preferred endearment for him to hopefully get him to start opening up, "I just want to know what's hurting you so it can be avoided in the future. It's obvious that you're not okay with everything and I don't have a clue which part is upsetting you. Above all I don't understand why you haven't talked to me lately, sat me down and told me what's wrong."_

 _"_ _When would I have done that, Katniss?" he asks, turning around to face me, still with his hands on his hips. He sounds upset, which I actually take as a good thing. I don't like when we fight but sometimes it's cathartic. He's far too skilled at bottling his emotions and I want to smash the neck off that particular bottle. "When? You're never home. I get, what? Half an hour with you each day? The last thing I want to spend that short time on is arguing. Hell, the one time I tried to talk to you the only thing I got for my troubles was you snapping at me. As if that was constructive."_

 _"_ _I had had a very long day and I was eager to come home and be wrapped in your arms and you chose_ that _time to bring it up?" The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them, reflexively. I realize it's a mistake the moment I say it but I can't take it back. Peeta scowls and crosses his arms._

 _"_ _It was after midnight and I was worried about you!" he angrily retorts. "For all I knew you'd gotten hurt. Not such a far-fetched theory, with what happened yesterday."_

 _"_ _Okay, okay," I say, holding up my hands to try and signal that I don't want to harp on that particular issue. "But still, there were other times you could have mentioned something. How am I supposed to know that something is wrong if you're not telling me?"_

 _His hands are back on his hips and he's moving slowly back and forth in the room. Me, I'm standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorpost, watching every step he takes. Waiting for what he will say and do next. But what comes out of his mouth is not something I would expect from kind, considerate Peeta._

 _"_ _Should I really have to_ explain _to my girlfriend that I would like to spend time with her every once in a while, have dinner with her more than just sporadically, spend what little time we do spend together talking about something other than the work that takes up most of her waking hours? You haven't noticed until_ now _that I think it sucks that I almost never see you these days?" I bite my bottom lip, trying to absorb the hurtful accusations he just threw at me, but before it can sink in too deep he quickly stops and speaks again. "Gosh, I'm sorry, that was really low of me. Forgive me Katniss, I didn't even_ mean _any of that. I'm just angry right now."_

 _"_ _Maybe you did mean it," I say, my eyes turned to the floor and not to him._

 _"_ _No, no I didn't. The truth is I don't_ want _to feel petty and wounded or anything like that. I meant it when I said I'm happy for you. This whole thing with the committee has done you good. I just miss you, Katniss. That's all. And I know that once the committee leaves things will return to normal and I think you're going to be sad when they're gone so you should enjoy all of this while it lasts and know that I will still be here when the work is over. I don't want to fight over this when it will work itself out on its own."_

 _"_ _I believe you," I say as I walk closer to him. "I do. But that doesn't mean you didn't mean the other things as well." He makes a frustrated sound and begins to pace again but I reach out my hand and grab his arm, causing him to stop. "I miss you too, you know. And I guess I've been so wrapped up in working with these people and having a good time with them, learning from them, that I forgot that…" I feel my cheeks flush as I acknowledge the somewhat embarrassing truth. "That when I've been sitting at the hotel late into the evening, sharing stories and sharing hunting tips and having a good time, not doing much actual work at that hour of the day, you've been here waiting for me to come home."_

 _He looks at me intently, his eyes revealing that he's thinking intensely about something, looking at me as if he's searching my face for something. Is there something else he's wanting me to say? If so, why doesn't he just come out and ask me about it? I can't read his mind and I can't stand here all morning and make guesses._

 _Both of us startle when the phone rings. Neither makes a move to go answer it. It's Petersen, no doubt. Maybe if I don't answer he'll think I'm on my way, buying me some more time. But after about five signals Peeta walks past me to go and answer the phone. I take long, slightly faster steps to move past him and I reach the phone first. When I grab it he stops and turns around to slowly walk towards the couch. I keep my eyes on him as I talk to a rather annoyed Petersen._

 _"_ _You go on ahead," I tell him calmly. I have no intention of letting him know he interrupted an argument between Peeta and myself, or that my emotions are beginning to get the better of me. It's been a difficult thirty-something hours in the feelings department. "I'm not coming out today." The angry response on the other end makes me flinch and hold the phone away from my ear for a few seconds. My eyes are still on Peeta, who is taking a seat on the couch. "Look," I tell Petersen, "I gave you a map of where we found the trap, and Gale can give you more specifics if you need them. I just can't come with you. Not today." His next response is no less angry than the previous but I just roll my eyes at it. "I realize that it's important that we find the trap but I don't think you need me to do it. Considering the day I had yesterday I don't think it's too much to ask that I get a day to rest up and cope with what happened out in the woods. I need to just… stay home and feel Peeta's arms around me. If that's not okay with you then I'm sorry, but you can't order me to come join you. I wish you the best of luck and tomorrow you can tell me how everything went."_

 _I hang up the phone in the middle of his next response and I walk over to the couch. Taking a chance that he won't pull away from me I sit down straddling Peeta's lap, running my hands up and down his arms. He eyes me curiously, making no protest but no reciprocation either._

 _"_ _I understand if you can't or won't…" I say, "but it would mean so much to me if you stayed at home with me today. Even if I don't deserve it, having barely been home for you at all lately." Memories of Gale's injury and of the torturous hours of moving through the forest at a snail's pace rush back with full emotional impact, along with my devastation of having to abandon my plans for yesterday and of hurting my beloved on his birthday, his silent rejection when I got home last night and everything that's gone on this morning. Tears begin to fall down my face and I begin to shake with sobs. "I'm so tired, Peeta," I manage. "And I'm so sorry. And so very,_ very _disappointed that I didn't get to celebrate with you yesterday. You mean more to me than everything else in the world and I can't stand it when you're sad or feel let down, and when it's because of_ me _it's even worse." I feel his hands land on the small of my back, move slowly further up and press me close. I melt into his embrace, resting my cheek against his collarbone, weeping with exhaustion and devastation. It should have been me comforting Peeta but the roles end up being reversed. His hands rub my back and he presses a kiss to the top of my head. "I'm so sorry about all of this…" I sob._

 _"_ _Hush…" he says soothingly. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine. Just give me some of your time and I'll be fine. I love you and I know you love me and we'll be okay. We always end up okay. We always will."_

 _I sit there and cry in my beloved's arms until exhaustion takes over. With an aching head I wrap my arms around his neck and move even closer, soaking up every ounce of comfort he is giving me. I close my eyes and it's not long before I fall asleep, comforted and secure that Peeta understands and has forgiven me. Whatever other issues remain, we will sort them out. Because he's right. We'll always be okay._

* * *

We meet up outside the marketplace. It's gotten a little bit warmer in the sunlight but Katniss seems to be shivering slightly anyway. I'm willing to bet she regrets not wearing pants and her father's hunting jacket but at least she had time to run her errand.

"See?" I say, nodding at the bag with the carefully wrapped arrowheads, a bag she's clutching hard. "I told you there would be time."

"You were right," she nods. She looks over her shoulder at the large clock at the entrance of the marketplace. "In fact, we have time for one more errand."

"A quick one, I suppose," I say, glancing at the clock as well. "Delly won't say a word if we're late but you know how she gets when she's introducing us to a guy she really likes. She would rather we were early than late."

"One more errand," says Katniss, and her tone won't be argued with.

"Fine," I say, shrugging a shoulder. "What errand is it, exactly?"

I don't get an answer as she's already begun walking. She leads the way and I follow, keeping even step with her as she zig-zags through the crowds and down the streets of District 12's new town. After what must be about five minutes, and just as I'm about to check my watch and suggest we might not have time for this errand after all, she makes another turn and takes me down the road that leads away from the town and runs up to the mayor's house. I frown as she begins to climb the white marble steps that lead up to the large, beautiful house that was completed a mere year and a half ago. Once we're at the top of the stairs I stop, tugging on her arm which makes her pause and turn just as she's about to open the door.

"Katniss what are we doing here?"

"Indulge me?" she pleads in a voice so delicately pleading that it almost renders me speechless.

"Yeah okay," I say, nodding quickly five or six times. I'm not sure what else to say.

She opens the door without knocking and I follow her inside, picking my jaw up from the floor along the way. I've never been inside this house before and I'm staring at the spacious rooms, the ceiling that's at least three meters above my head, the expensive furniture and the beautiful artwork. I'm so preoccupied taking in my surroundings that I'm almost not paying attention where I'm going. Luckily Katniss has me by the hand and leads the way. She knows exactly where she's going, which is good I guess since we're in a hurry, and as I try to keep up with her brisk steps I begin to wonder when she's been here, how often she's been here and why it is that I don't know about it. Is Katniss in some sort of trouble? Before I can think too hard about that we reach the other end of the room and Katniss stops by a pair of luxurious glass doors that lead to a marble patio and a garden. I can't see if there's anybody out there but it's a little unnerving how deserted the place is indoors.

"You might want to tell me what's going on," I say with a concerned scowl.

"Well…" she begins, sounding nervous. She shakes her head and laughs a little. "I spent… so much time thinking about this, over a _year_ , and only _now_ does it occur to me that… that it might not be my best idea. And I'm a little nervous about it."

"Seriously Katniss, I have absolutely no idea what on earth you are talking about."

Her features soften a bit and her hand comes up to caress my cheek.

"It's your birthday today," she says. Her hand stays on my cheek and her eyes don't leave mine for a second. "I had planned something special for you last year and you just can't understand how bitterly disappointed I was when everything went wrong. Ever since then I've been waiting for your next birthday, to hopefully have things go the way I planned."

"Couldn't you just have followed through with your plans a few days after my birthday?" I ask warily. "Katniss I-"

Quickly she silences me with a kiss. I can feel her trembling slightly and the look in her eyes is a strange blend of nervousness and joy. Oh how I wish she would accept that I don't like celebrating my birthday and just leave it all be. Why put us both through things like what happened last year and whatever it is that's making her so on edge right now?

"It has to be today," she insists. "Or at least… at least that's what I had in mind. Not until now, _right now_ , did it occur to me that… that perhaps you may not be happy about it."

"Be happy about what?" I ask, frustrated and not doing all that good a job hiding it. It seems to make her even more nervous and I'm annoyed with myself for making her feel this way but I don't understand the point of this drama. It seems pretty simple to me that we just acknowledge this date every year but don't make a fuss about it. It's such a weird thing for her to be so passionate about.

Her eyes leave mine for a few seconds to look out through the glass doors.

"The mayor is out there in the garden," she says. "You know, you… You've said every year that you don't want any birthday presents from me, that all you want is me. That's what I want to give you." Her eyes turn downward and she takes my hands in hers before looking up at me. "The mayor is expecting us. He's ready to marry us." My mouth falls open but she pays no attention. "It's something I've wanted for quite some time, and… and I hope and believe that you want it, too."

"To be married to you?" I ask in utter disbelief. I'm not entirely sure I'm actually awake right now. This all seems so bizarre. Weren't we on our way to see Delly and her new boyfriend just a couple of minutes ago? "Katniss you know I want that. But how… I…"

"I wanted to do something special," she says, tilting her head slightly. "And I thought… I thought that if our wedding day was on your birthday then maybe you would like that day a bit better… maybe even as much as I do." She swallows and bites her bottom lip again for a second. "It really didn't work out last year so I planned it more carefully this year, trying to make sure nothing would interfere. Not until we arrived here did it occur to me that… well, that you might not actually _want_ this."

"You think I don't want to be your husband?" I ask. I don't know what is more difficult for me to believe – that Katniss planned a wedding for us as a surprise to me or that she might think there is any little part of me that wouldn't want to be married to her.

"No, I… I'm talking about today." She smiles and it's still a nervous smile but she seems a bit more at ease now. "I thought surprising you with a wedding would be an amazing birthday gift but maybe today is number 365 on the list of dates you'd want your wedding day to be."

Looking at her I still can't quite understand that this is real and the honest truth is that she might be right. Do I really want a date that I've never liked to be the day I get married on? But it only takes me a second to think it over. I lean in and give her a firm kiss on the mouth.

"You're actually proposing to me right now?" I mumble against her lips. I chuckle softly and release her hands, sliding mine around her waist. "For real? And you were going to do that last year? That was your plan?"

"Yeah."

"Well you were right. All I've ever wanted, for my birthday or otherwise, is you, and marriage to you is the best birthday present I could ever imagine."

I feel the corners of her lips turn upward in a wide smile and she wraps her arms around my neck, kissing me and then laughing lightly and happily against my lips.

"So you don't mind the date? I haven't been spending fifteen months planning and waiting but doing it all wrong?"

"Katniss frankly I don't care what day I marry you on, just so long as I get to marry you." I pull back a little and rock us both gently from side to side. "But I thought you didn't want marriage."

"Not before the war," she says, raising an eyebrow at me with a smirk. "After that you just assumed and you never asked. So I decided I should take matters into my own hands. So if you want to be my husband as much as I want to be your wife – which is a lot, as you can tell, since I'm actually being sappy right now – then all we have to do is walk out these doors, down into that garden and when we leave we'll go straight home, marriage license in hand, and prepare a toasting."

"The sappiness is my favourite part," I tease her. I feel myself trembling, from joy and excitement but also, truthfully, a little bit from shock. I'm almost afraid to believe that this is real. Katniss' nervousness appears to have vanished but I don't think mine will completely go away until we have actually seen the mayor and had our quick ceremony. The thought even enters my mind that maybe this is all just a dream, that I'm still in bed on the night of my 21st birthday and my mind is trying to make me feel better about having been stood-up. I want that thought gone as fast as possible. "Okay, well…" I pull back and take her hand firmly in mine. My palms are sweaty and my mouth feels dry. "I want my birthday present now."

Katniss laughs and reaches for the doorknob. The doors open outwardly and the sound of tweeting birds and the scent of a few autumn blossoms still in bloom fill the air. I follow as she leads me out on the patio and down the steps, then left towards a small gazebo in front of which the mayor is sitting in a lawn chair next to his wife, both of them reading a paper. Katniss gives my hand a squeeze and I try to comprehend that soon there will be another married couple in this garden.

* * *

The clock resting on the mantelpiece shows that midnight is just over thirty minutes away, meaning that my birthday is almost over. It hasn't quite sunk in with me yet that it is also our wedding day, though I can't seem to shake the goofy smile that's been planted on my face ever since we stepped out into the mayor's garden and it sure feels real now that I'm sitting on the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace with my arm around Katniss' shoulders. The remaining slices of the bread we toasted together are on a small plate at her feet right next to the cake she demanded that I bake for the occasion. I tried telling her that we'd both be too full from dinner and our toasting bread to want to eat any of it but she insisted and now it sits practically untouched, save for a couple of raspberries she's plucked from the top. We really ought to put it in the refrigerator so it will keep until tomorrow. Haymitch can help us finish it. He came over for a while this afternoon along with Delly, the two of them having been in on Katniss' plans and eager to congratulate us.

I rest my nose against the top of Katniss' head, breathing in the banana scent of her shampoo. My hand comes up and rustles her hair a bit and I kiss her head and close my eyes for a second, revelling in how good this feels. It's hard to believe that I can feel this way tonight when I felt so miserable exactly one year ago. Even though I know that what happened that time was plain bad luck, for everyone involved, it took me a while to forget what it had felt like going to bed that evening. But we came out stronger on the other end and it did no lasting damage and I think maybe I'm even glad us getting married didn't happen last year. Last year she still had the committee in town and work left to be done. Now she's all mine and we can focus on nothing but each other for the next few days. Exactly the kind of birthday gift I love receiving.

"The day is almost over," says Katniss softly, pensively. She leans forward and grabs another raspberry, licks a bit of whipped cream off the side of her finger and then turns to me. I open my mouth and she places the berry on my tongue, framing my face with both her hands as she then leans in for a kiss. "You think you will look forward to this date more from here on out?"

"Oh please, you're not asking that question because you're actually curious about the answer," I say with a teasing scoff. I give her a look, one eyebrow raised. "The more I think about it I actually think you picked my birthday just so you'd make sure your husband would always remember our anniversary."

She makes a face at me and playfully elbows me in the side. She shifts and moves so that she's sitting between my legs, her back against my front, and I wrap my arms around her and rest my cheek against hers. Her hands come up and stroke my arms slowly, up and down. We watch the flickering flames in silence as the clock keeps ticking. Somewhere in the room Buttercup sighs heavily. The minutes go by until the clock reaches midnight and my birthday is over for this year.

Our toasting day has come and gone.

* * *

Well that was that. I hope the last third didn't seem as weird as it felt to me and that the middle part wasn't too big of a mess. I thought it was a little bit funny when some people felt about the first two parts that Peeta acted like the "woman" in the relationship since I knew Katniss was planning on proposing to him. In canon Katniss and Peeta do defy stereotypical gender roles to a degree, both in general and vis-a-vis each other, and I like that and wanted to incorporate that into the story.

Anyhow, this story is now officially completed! I hope to hear your comments, and thank you for reading - not to mention waiting for this long for the final part!

/Ronja


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